


From Winter's Cold

by 27dragons



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon Divergence - the Winter Soldier is Peggy Carter, Canon-Typical Violence, Lingerie, M/M, Other, changing the past affects the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-12 05:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 64,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2097654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Fucking Asgardians.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Thanks to one of Thor's crazy stalkers, Tony finds himself stranded in the past. If he significantly changes the course of history, he might never get home again. The choice, when it appears, turns out to be not nearly as difficult as he might have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crazy Stalkers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZombieOnAVespa](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ZombieOnAVespa).
  * Translation into Deutsch available: [From Winter's Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435399) by [InnerCinemaTranslates (InnerCinema)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema/pseuds/InnerCinemaTranslates)



> Part One (through Chapter 11) is Gen and rated Teen-and-Up.  
> Part Two (Chapter 12 and up) is M/M/M and rated Mature/Explicit.
> 
> Update: Now with [cover art](http://fanficovers.tumblr.com/post/117325798834/)! Oh my goodness, thank you!!!

Tony could wrap his genius brain around a _lot_ of things.

He could wrap his brain around the fact that there was an assassin called the Winter Soldier, who was one of the most capable and feared assassins in the entire world. (That understanding was certainly aided by the fact that Tony now lived with two people who had, themselves, been counted among the most capable and feared assassins in the world for a time.)

It had taken him a few moments and some really furious calculation, but he could accept that this reputation held up even though the Winter Soldier had been an active threat for over fifty years.

It had rocked him, _hard_ , to learn that the Winter Soldier had possibly -- _probably_ \-- been involved in causing the car accident that had killed Tony's parents. But Tony had no trouble grasping that there had been plenty of powerful people with the motive to want Howard dead.

Tony hadn't even thought to question Steve's identification of the Winter Soldier as Steve's old friend, Bucky Barnes, long thought dead. That information had, in fact, made some of the other pieces pull together a little more tightly.

And it meant that Tony knew why the Winter Soldier had taken to shadowing the Avengers, lately, when they were out on a call.

Everyone had pretty much given up trying to catch him, except for Steve. No one had even suggested that Steve stop trying, of course.

About half the time, the Winter Soldier brought a gun with him, however, and that made things... complicated.

The Winter Soldier wouldn't shoot Steve. Steve had made an easy target of his back for the Winter Soldier time and time again, and had yet to be shot for it. Steve thought that meant that the Winter Soldier was beginning to remember him, that it was a good thing.

And it should have been, really.

Except that the Winter Soldier didn't have any such compunction about shooting at the _rest_ of the team.

He rarely fired at an Avenger more than once in a single fight, but that was _rarely_ and not _never_ , so it wasn't like they could ever let their guard down when he showed up at the struggle du jour.

He'd gotten Clint right through the bicep once. He'd parted Natasha's hair so closely that she'd needed three stitches to close the scalp wound after the fight. (They had taken three weeks to heal, and Tony was now sworn to take to the grave the secret of Natasha's natural hair color.) He'd shot Sam in the leg on two occasions, and on one more had managed to puncture a critical joint in the Falcon wings, rendering them unusable. Thor and the Hulk were largely impervious to the Winter Soldier's bullets, but some impressive holes had been punched in Thor's cape, and getting shot sometimes made the Hulk forget what he was supposed to be doing and tear off after the Winter Soldier instead.

Tony had been shot at more than any of the others combined, for reasons no one could guess at. Tony could just shrug it off as a minor distraction -- thank god for the armor -- but it was getting to be annoying.

Steve, being Steve, always pleaded with them all for understanding and patience. "He just doesn't know how to tell the difference between friend and foe," Steve rationalized. "Once he knows that you're part of my team, he'll stop shooting at you."

Tony had given up hoping that Steve would ever be swayed on this topic. Instead, he worked a few extra sleepless nights to develop better body armor for the members of the team that were not bulletproof, and he made sure to keep his helmet on until they were sure the Winter Soldier had cleared the area after a fight.

So the situation was annoying as all hell, but Tony had his genius brain wrapped pretty firmly around it. Right up until the Asgardians got mixed up in it.

God, the fucking Asgardians.

Asgardian tech was close enough to magic to make Tony _really_ twitchy, even though Stephen Strange had sworn to him that Asgardian tech was, in fact, tech and not magic at all. Tony had some words with Strange about Arthur C. Clarke, and Strange had just given Tony that _look_ he always got whenever Tony referred to books that were less than four centuries old.

Fucking magic.

Fucking Asgardian tech.

Fucking Asgardians.

Except Thor, of course. Thor was a stand-up guy. Tony liked Thor. Everyone liked Thor, really, except for the bad guys.

Only right now, Tony was looking at some pretty compelling evidence that even some of the bad guys liked Thor.

Specifically? Asgardian bad guys.

Even more specifically? _Female_ Asgardian bad guys.

Tony had been around the block a time or two. He'd had a few pretty nasty breakups. He'd had to file a few restraining orders in his day, and there were a couple of crazy stalkers that he'd actually had to have arrested.

Tony's wacky stalker stories had _nothing_ on Thor's, apparently.

_Fucking Asgardians_.

Because _this_ crazy stalker Asgardian had managed to track Thor down, here on Midgard. Earth. Whatever. And she was trying -- as near as Tony could figure it -- to prove her worthiness, or something, by defeating Thor and his chosen comrades -- read, the Avengers -- in combat. Apparently.

And, okay, customs vary, and Tony had seen Thor in action, so he could wrap his genius brain around the idea of a warrior culture where that might have made sense. You know, leaving aside the fact that Thor's girlfriend had won his affection while being even more of a nerd than _Tony_ and generally not all that much on the combat-and-ass-kicking front. But whatever, maybe Thor was whatever passed for queer among Asgardians, that he fell for the brainy types, and this suitor hadn't caught on yet. See, Tony could wrap his brain around that, and it would've been... "Fine" was probably stretching the matter, but it would've been just another damn fight, really, something to do with the afternoon. They'd handed Stalker-chick's ass to her on a platter, and that should've been it, right? Not worthy, thanks for playing, maybe try again in a few centuries, buh-bye now.

But no. _No_ , of course not.

She'd come back. With a friend. They always had a friend, didn't they? And of course in _this_ showdown, the Winter Soldier had decided to pop in for a visit. _Of course_ he had. And if that hadn't been bad enough, it turned out that Stalker-chick's friend was pretty good at slinging Asgardian tech around like it was magic.

Fucking magic.

Fucking Asgardian tech.

It didn't really _matter_ which one it was, did it? Stalker-chick had started shrieking something about the "regrets of youth" and the "changeable heart" and whatever, right, Tony had heard this line before, so he'd mostly been watching the friend, who looked like she was charging up some kind of weird weapon, and he had been flying wide trying to keep an eye on the Winter Soldier, too, who for a miraculous change had decided to shoot Thor today and was therefore ignoring Tony completely while lining up his shot.

And then everything happened _almost_ too fast for even Tony's genius brain to keep up:

The friend shot her weapon thing at Thor. At the same time, so did the Winter Soldier.

And Steve, being Steve, shoved Thor out of the way. (Tony was impressed; Thor was not exactly a welterweight, especially when he'd planted his feet for battle.)

The two shots -- the Asgardian tech/magic thing and the Winter Soldier's bullet -- both hit at the same time, only now they both hit Steve.

The Winter Soldier's bullet went into the back of Steve's right arm. The bolt of light that had come from the Asgardian gun went straight through Steve's chest, and continued on out the back of him.

The Winter Soldier, realizing that not only had he failed to hit his chosen target, but had in fact shot the _one person_ on the field of battle that was _not ever a target_ , charged forward...

...and so the bolt of light went straight through the Winter Soldier as well.

Then, because Tony's physical reflexes were not nearly as good as his mental ones, the bolt of light slammed into Tony, right over the arc reactor in the chestplate of his suit. Instead of going through him, it exploded. Painfully.

_Very_ painfully.

Fucking Asgardians, Tony thought.

And then everything went dark.


	2. Of Course

It was cold. Even in the suit, it was cold.

Tony was still in the suit. That was pretty odd, because usually when things exploded on him (or in him) in the middle of a battle and he passed out, the team got him out of the suit as quickly as possible, because Tony might be an asshole, but he was _their_ asshole and they weren't about to let anyone else kill him. (Except Pepper. Pepper totally had prior claim in the whole "killing Tony" pool, and everyone on the team knew it.)

It was cold and it was _quiet_. The battle was over. Why hadn't they gotten him out of the suit?

Tony opened his eyes.

It was cold and it was quiet and it was fucking _bright_. He squinted, and after a moment he realized he was lying in the snow. At the bottom of a mountain.

It wasn't the kind of old, gently-sloping, tree-covered Appalachian mountain that Tony saw in upstate New York, either. This mountain was not fucking around. It was steep and jagged and rocky.

Also, covered in snow, and Tony was really, _really_ certain that it had not been snowing before he'd been exploded and passed out. Also, that there had not been any mountains in the vicinity.

What the hell?

"JARVIS?" he tried, praying. "Come on, buddy, let's not do this again."

The HUD flickered to life. "My apologies, sir. I went into resting mode to conserve power and failed to restart when you awoke."

No one was around to hear Tony sigh in relief, so he did. "That's okay, JARV. Tell me what's going on now, though."

"I seem to have been cut off from the tower's server, sir."

Tony didn't like the sound of that, not at all. "Hackers again?" he growled. "Fine, locate the nearest uncompromised SI server and hook in--"

"Forgive me, sir, but I cannot locate any other Stark Industries servers. Broadening communications search."

Tony watched the snow falling while he waited. It took rather longer than he would have liked.

"I am unable to detect any communications satellites within range of my signal--"

"Are we on another fucking _planet_?"

"--but I have tapped into what seems to be a radio relay tower approximately ten miles away."

"Okay. Okay. Still on Earth. That's good. Can we insert a transmission, let the others know where to come pick us up?"

"Not at this remove, sir. We will need to be physically on-site for that."

"Right. Well, let's--"

"Sir, as a point of information, I feel you should know that the transmissions I'm collecting from the tower appear to be encrypted. And in German."

"That was pretty fast codebreaking, JARV, even for you. Are we in Germany, then? Was that thing that hit me some kind of transport... spell? Why would it take me to _Germany_ of all the weird--"

"Sir." JARVIS had excellent emotive capabilities, but Tony had never heard him quite this... apprehensive. "If I am correctly interpreting these transmissions, sir, we are not in Germany."

Tony wasn't going to like this. He absolutely was _not_ going to like this. "Hit me, J."

"We seem to be in Nazi-occupied Italy."

Tony's brain kicked into high gear. "Occupied? Hydra's making moves that open now? JARVIS, we've got to--"

"No, sir. Based on the encryption algorithm I encountered and the content of the messages, we appear to be in Nazi-occupied Italy sometime in the first half of 1945."

_Fucking_.

_Asgardian_.

_Magic_.

***

Tony had been in worse situations, he was pretty sure. Even if he hadn't been able to think of any during the half-hour or so that he'd been lying here in the snow, trying to wrap his brain around this one, and failing.

At least he had a suit. And JARVIS. This was better than being stuck in a cave in Afghanistan, right?

Right?

"Okay, JARVIS, I'll need you to start analyzing whatever you collected on the blast that knocked us back here so we can try to replicate it for a trip home. Also, let's see about finding a cave or something for shelter--"

"The radio relay tower whose signal I have intercepted is likely to be attached to a small base or guard station, sir. Such a location will also have electricity and perhaps some parts and tools for repair which might be useful in the event--"

"Right." Tony sat up. "Okay, JARVIS, let's go kill some Nazis."

It wasn't a base or even a real station. It was just a hut, a tiny one-room shack containing two bored guards, two cots, a kerosene heater, a box of MREs, a camp stove, and a control board for the relay tower. The guards were so completely thrown by Tony's appearance that they didn't even manage to raise their guns before it was all over.

Tony dumped the bodies and then retreated to the cabin. He shed the armor and rigged up a way to hook the suit into the cabin's power and the control panel, and then stole the Nazis' winter gear. "You focus on getting that data analysis done, J," he said. "I'm going to scout out the area, see what's nearby."

"Yes, sir."

***

It was a lot colder without the suit to keep the wind off, but Tony hardly noticed, wrapped deep in the twists of the paradox problem.

It was tempting, after all, to take the suit and just go kill Hitler, but he wasn't that dumb. Changing history that significantly would guarantee he'd never be able to get home again.

But if it was early enough in 1945 then Steve and the Howling Commandos might still be operating. He might be able to make Steve believe his story, and Steve was clever enough to be able to help him. Sneak him into Howard's lab, even, maybe, though the materials available in 1945 were pretty primitive compared to what Tony was used to.

Of course, he was jumping the gun, there, because he didn't even know that he'd need a lab. For all he knew, there _was_ no way back. Or JARVIS might be able to recreate the necessary travel conditions on his own. Or Steve might have already taken his ice-bath. Was there anyone else in this time that he could convince to trust him? He didn't _know_.

He should probably get out of Axis territory fairly soon, at least. That was just begging for trouble. Once night fell, he'd suit up again, take it high up and drift northwest until he could set down somewhere friendly -- southern France, maybe, or the English countryside.

From there, he could--

Was that a voice? Tony ducked behind a rock, heart pounding. Why the hell had he wandered out here without any weapons? Christ, his footprints were clearly visible in the snow. Idiot, he cursed himself.

He clamped down on his own breathing and listened intently.

The sound came again, definitely a human voice. But it wasn't talking. More like... whimpering?

Tony waited a little longer, and didn't hear any other voices or movement.

Slowly, he stood up.

Nothing. Sound traveled oddly in the mountains, but he thought the whimpering was coming from dead ahead. He crept forward cautiously. He passed another rocky outcropping and saw, about fifty yards away, a huddled form smeared with blood, arterial-bright.

"Fuck," Tony bit off, and picked up the pace.

The closer he got, the more the warning bells were going off in his mind, and -- fuck, yes, Tony really, _really_ wished he could just be _completely wrong_ once in a while.

Because the poor bastard bleeding out on the ground?

Was Bucky Barnes.

Of course.


	3. Horrible Adventures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the squeamish: graphic depiction of makeshift medical care for Bucky's injuries, especially the arm.

Tony didn't consider himself squeamish. He'd been at this superhero gig for more than five years now, and he'd seen a lot of blood and gore (a lot of it his own), and usually managed to sublimate most of his reaction to it.

Barnes' injuries were making Tony nauseous, though. He'd fallen a hell of a long way, and it was something of a miracle that only one of his legs was broken. Bunch of ribs, probably, too, and god only knew what the internal damage was. It was the arm that most made Tony want to throw up, though; it looked like it had been broken like a twig and then _ripped_ off a few inches below the shoulder.

Tony wondered why the hell Barnes was only whimpering and not screaming his damn head off, but then his first aid training kicked into gear.  _Stop the bleeding_. Neither his flight suit nor his stolen Nazi coat had a belt, so the scarf would have to do for a tourniquet.

"Barnes," he tried as he knelt down. "Sergeant, I'm going to tie up your arm, I need you to work with me, here." He was pretty sure Barnes wasn't even hearing him, but Tony kept talking, just on the off chance, detailing what he was doing. He wrapped the scarf around the stump of Barnes' arm and pulled tight, until the blood stopped squirting out, and then tighter, until the gushing slowed to a dribble. Tony couldn't get the thick cloth to go tighter than that, though, so it would have to do for now.

He pulled the broken leg out straight, and only then realized he was at a loss for any way to splint it.

Fuck. How far had he gone? He turned around. He couldn't see the little shack anymore, but he could still see the top of the radio tower. Barnes wasn't a little guy, but Tony was stronger than most people expected him to be. It wouldn't be fun, but he could do it.

He eyed Barnes for a moment, working out the angles and the stress and the torque as best he could, then carefully heaved Barnes up and over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. He staggered a few steps under the weight, then adjusted and started walking back.

He wondered how long Barnes had laid there, in the original timeline, before Hydra had stumbled across him. Were they out here now? This was for sure leaving a trail that even an idiot could follow; was Tony about to hand-deliver both Barnes and himself into Hydra's clutches? He shouldn't have left the suit behind, he really shouldn't. He thought he could still summon it, if something happened, but that assumed he lived long enough for it to reach him.

The blood made Barnes slippery, hard to hold. Tony had to keep stopping to adjust his grip. He was almost certainly making the injuries worse, but he couldn't think of a better plan. Not without knowing how long they had before Hydra's patrols came by.

He was changing history, right now. Probably. Almost certainly. The Winter Soldier had shaped the entire second half of the 20th century. Shit.

But there was no way Tony could just _leave_ Barnes there for Hydra, not knowing what he knew. Absolutely no way at all. He'd just have to deal with the fallout later.

At least Steve would approve of this particular fuck-up.

Maybe the _fucking Asgardian magic_ could do something to help when they got back.

_If_ they got back.

Tony shifted his grip on Barnes again, and kept walking.

***

It was late afternoon by the time Tony got the now completely unconscious Barnes back to the radio tower's shack.

The "completely unconscious" part was probably a blessing, and Tony figured he should take advantage of it while the opportunity was there. The Nazis didn't have much of a first aid kit handy, but it did contain a syringe prepped with penicillin, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and clean bandages, among other odds and ends. Tony would have to improvise the rest.

Tony was good at improvising, though. He ripped one of the bedsheets into strips, and then dug around in the materials intended for repairs to the radio tower and found a few lengths of rebar and some steel cable.

Tony reminded himself that he'd once made Pepper stick her entire hand into his chest cavity and that this could only be considered just recompense. He locked his jaw against his need to gag and went to work on the arm. He cleaned it off as best he could, and then peeled back the dangling skin to make sure all the loose fragments of bone had been removed. Barnes twitched and jerked when he splashed the alcohol around, but then subsided again. Tony carefully folded the flaps of skin over the remaining bone and muscle and then used a thin strip of bedding to tie a proper tourniquet, pulling tighter and tighter until even the sluggish ooze of blood finally stopped. He wrapped Barnes' stump with a layer of sterile gauze from the first aid kit, and then covered that with several layers of bedsheet bandages, winding all the way up and over the edge of Barnes' shoulder to help it hold in place.

Satisfied that it was probably the best that could be done for now, Tony walked outside and threw up. Several times.

He was pretty sure he was back on the black side of the "horrible medical adventures" ledger now.

He stayed outside for a few minutes, letting the swiftly-falling evening temperature clear his lungs of the scent of blood and raw meat. At least, he thought dizzily, he hadn't smelled pus or rot. He reminded himself to give Barnes the penicillin injection before he started working on the leg.

Barnes was still out cold when Tony went back in, so he lit the lamp and went to work on the leg. There was no way he could set the bones properly, not when he had no way of knowing how many small fragments there might be, so he had to settle for simply tugging it more or less straight.

He folded up a wool blanket and wrapped that around the leg. With the blanket for padding, he used the rebar to fashion splints, tying everything in place with the steel cable and the rest of the bedsheet strips. It made for a hideous monstrosity of a cast, but it would at least limit further damage.

By the time it was done, full night had fallen.

Tony was heating water over the campstove to make what was undoubtedly going to be terrible coffee when Barnes finally stirred. His breathing sped up and he started to twitch, and Tony prudently stepped back to the far side of the room (not that that was very far). Barnes' head thrashed back and forth a few times, his breath ripping out of him in ragged pants, and then he sat straight up suddenly with a wordless shout.

"Easy, soldier," Tony said, hoping that Barnes would be put somewhat at ease if he heard some plain English right off. "Take it easy. You've been wounded."

"This ain' no med tent," Barnes said suspiciously, and then blinked and squinted at Tony. "...Stark?"

Tony had forgotten how much he looked like his father, and the light in here was dim enough to hide the differences. "After a fashion," he agreed neutrally.

"What's that mean? The hell are you doing out here?" Barnes demanded. He took another look around the tiny room. "Where the hell are we? Where's Steve?" He paused, wincing in pain, and grabbed at his arm.

Even in the dim light, Tony could see the color drain from Barnes' face when his hand closed over the bandaged stump. "What's the... My arm?"

Tony came in close then, kneeling on the floor next to Barnes and gently pulling his hand away from the wound. "Breathe."

"My _arm_ ," Barnes said, voice going thready and high as the panic set in. "My goddamn--"

" _Breathe,_ " Tony demanded, squeezing Barnes' hand tightly. "Listen to me, Sergeant, listen to my voice. Breathe in, right now. Do it. Like this." He drew a long, slow breath.

Barnes' eyes fixed on him, pupils huge and watery, and he gave a tiny little suck of air.

Tony nodded, just a bit, and breathed out, just as slow, until Barnes huffed back out.

Tony drew another breath, let it out. Again. And again, until Barnes was starting to breathe properly on his own and some of his color had returned. "Better?"

"Little," Barnes gasped. "Hurts like hell, though. What. What the hell happened?"

"What's the last you remember?"

"Uhn. Jumping onto the train?" Barnes reached for his arm again, but stopped himself, closing his hand into a fist. "Didn't go so well, I guess?" His eyes widened. "Steve!"

"Hey, calm down," Tony said sharply. "Listen to me. Steve's fine. The mission was a success. The rest of the team is fine, too. You're the only casualty."

Barnes searched Tony's face for a long moment, looking for any hint of untruth. Finally, he sighed. "Okay. Not much I can do now, anyway, huh? He send you after me?"

"Mm," Tony prevaricated, and held out a hand. "Come on, now that you're awake, let's get you off the floor and onto a bed."

Barnes gripped Tony's hand and tried to help as Tony lifted him off the floor and maneuvered him onto a cot, sitting up and leaning against the wall. Even that small bit of movement made Barnes pale and shaky with pain, though, and it was clear they weren't going to be going anywhere for a while.

Tony fished a handful of aspirin out of the medkit and fixed a cup of strong, terrible coffee. He offered both to Barnes, who took them dully. He only spilled a little of the coffee as he lifted the tin mug to his lips, gulping it down to swallow the pills, then draining the rest in a second swallow. He let his head fall back against the wall and rolled it until he was looking at Tony.

"Okay, pal," he said, and his eyes were bright even if his voice was thick with shock and pain, "wanna tell me what we're doing in a Nazi outpost, who the hell you really are, and why there's a huge goddamn robot standing in the corner?"


	4. Top That

Tony licked his lips. "Not sure how much of it you'd believe, quite honestly," he said.

"Start with your name," Barnes suggested. "I thought you were Stark, but you're not, are you?"

"I'm not Howard," Tony admitted, "but I am a Stark. My name's Tony."

"A relative, huh?" Barnes seemed to accept that readily enough. "Didn't know Stark had any family over here, but it's not like we're best pals or anything." He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing carefully -- Tony guessed he was working through a fresh wave of pain, and waited in silence. When it had passed, Barnes said, only slightly breathless, "Next up: Nazi outpost?"

"It was the closest available place," Tony said. "I'd already dealt with the occupants, and then I found you while I was checking the perimeter, and... well."

Barnes opened one eye to rake up and down Tony's wiry form dubiously. "You. Dealt with two Nazi station guards."

Tony glared. "I may not be a soldier, but I'm not _entirely_ useless."

"Don't look bulletproof, though. You a spook? Caught 'em napping?"

"I know a few spies, but I'm not one. And I'm not bulletproof, but that is." Tony pointed at the armor. "Call it a battle suit."

"Pull the other one."

"Told you it was hard to believe. And the suit's just the tip of the iceberg."

Barnes' eye closed again. "Well, go on, hit me with the rest, then."

"You're going to think I'm insane."

"I already know Howard Stark," Barnes pointed out. "What're you gonna say to top _his_ crazy?"

Tony grinned. Finally, an opportunity to pass up his dad. "You asked for it," he warned Barnes. "Get comfy."

***

Barnes was rubbing at his forehead as if it hurt worse than the arm and the leg put together. "One more time," he said for about the eighth time. "You're Howard Stark's son."

"Check."

"From the future."

"Yes."

"Where you know Steve. _My_ Steve. Rogers. Captain America."

"Right."

"And you're both part of a. A team of superheroes."

"The Avengers, yeah."

"And you were blown back in time by an accident in the middle of a battle with... a Norse god."

"...It's really much better for my indigestion if I think of them as aliens."

"Huh." Barnes kept rubbing his forehead.

 _Don't ask it_ , Tony silently begged, _don't ask that, don't, you don't want to know--_

"Was I supposed to die?"

 _Damn it_. Tony chewed on his lip, debating how much to tell. "No. You were captured by Hydra. Brainwashed."

"That already happened. Steve saved me."

"I know. It happened again."

Barnes grunted as if he'd taken a blow to the stomach. "He didn't save me the second time?"

"No one knew they had you. He thought you died in the fall from the train."

Barnes chewed on his lip. "Christ. He did something stupid, didn't he?"

Tony grinned at Barnes' exasperated tone, so similar to Steve's. Usually it was directed at Tony. "Oh, yeah."

"Do I want to know what?"

"...Let's hold off on details until you're a bit stronger. How are you feeling?"

"I've... been better."

"There is no one here to impress, Barnes. You've been awake for quite a while for someone as wounded as you are. You probably need to lie down and catch a nap."

"Can't."

"Too much pain? There's some stuff in the medkit that--"

"Nah. I mean, yeah, it hurts like all hell, but if I laid down I'd probably pass out pretty quick."

"So?"

Barnes grimaced. "Kinda expecting to wake up in a Hydra facility, to be honest. For a hallucination, this isn't so bad. Rather hold onto it as long as I can."

"Ow. Okay. I probably can't say anything to make you believe this is real, can I?"

Barnes managed a wan grin. "Not after that cockamamie time-travel superhero story you just shoveled on me, no."

Tony chuckled. "That's fair. How long you think you can hold out?"

Barnes thought about it, looking around the small room. "Maybe another couple hours." Which was probably bravado, Tony thought, but maybe not. Barnes was a tough son of a bitch, maybe even more than Steve had ever said.

"Okay. Tell you what, then." Tony picked up the Walther pistols he'd confiscated from the Nazis and set them on the cot next to Barnes. "I'm gonna take a short nap. You guard. Wake me up when you start to feel like you're drifting."

Barnes frowned. "You're gonna trust me on guard duty? With live weapons?"

"How much choice do I have? I've had a hell of a day, I'm wiped out. I could use a little rest. If you're not going to sleep, I might as well." Tony didn't mention that JARVIS could just as easily guard both of them with the suit; he figured a little show of trust couldn't hurt. He didn't wait for Barnes to respond, just stretched out on the empty cot and threw an arm over his eyes.

***

"Stark."

"Hn."

" _Stark_. Wake up!"

Why was it so chilly? The workroom was usually pretty warm, and--

Awareness returned all at once, and Tony jerked upright. "What is it?"

"Shhh! Keep your goddamn voice down!" Barnes hissed. "There's someone out there!"

Tony listened for a moment. He couldn't hear anything, but there was no reason to believe Barnes was wrong. Someone, after all, had been in the area to find the wounded Barnes in the first place, and Tony surely hadn't been concerned with covering his tracks when he'd brought Barnes back to the cabin. He stood up.

Barnes held out one of the pistols, butt first. "Here."

Tony grinned. "Keep it." He ran the tips of his fingers down the forearms of the suit, and the gauntlets opened. Tony laid his arms into them, and they detached from the suit even as they folded into place around him.

Barnes' eyes were wide. "You, uh. Weren't kidding about the suit."

"Nope." Tony scanned the room. There was only the one door, so the best line of attack would be... the cot Barnes was sitting on, actually. Okay, fine. The second-best line of attack was from the console desk. Tony moved over and took up position, waiting.

"Not bad," Barnes allowed.

Tony grinned. "Steve's a good teacher."

"You've learned tactics from Steve?"

"Among others, yeah. I told you, we're a team."

"And Steve's the team commander?"

"It's really not that well-defined, but yeah, usually he's got field command, at least."

"And so who-- Shh!"

Tony wanted to point out that Barnes had been the one making conversation in the first place, but now _he_ could hear the approaching squad. They weren't trying for stealth; Tony could pick out at least three voices, maybe four, their conversation muted but carrying a cadence that Tony associated with German.

Barnes' grip on the pistol was steady, his eyes locked on the door, his expression grim. Too serious, too tense. Tony caught his eye and gave him a wink and Tony's best shit-eating grin, which made Barnes blink and loosen up a bit in surprise.

Just in time, too: the door opened and the first intruder came in, a tall man in black, the red Hydra insignia on his shoulder.

Barnes shot him, twice in quick succession. The man staggered with the impact, both times, falling back into his companions.

The others reached for their weapons. Tony shot a repulsor blast into the face of the second through the door. He risked a glance back to check Barnes' reaction.

Barnes, trained soldier that he was, had his eyes still focused tightly on the door. But he was smirking, just a little bit, and that was good enough for Tony. Tony turned his own attention back to the door.

Two more shots echoed loudly in the small room, and the third Hydra goon was falling before he was far enough into the door for Tony to take proper aim.

"Shit," Barnes cursed. "Runner, Stark, the last one's--"

Tony was already out the door.

The last Hydra agent was hard to spot in the dark, but Tony could hear him. He fired and missed, but that shot illuminated the running man well enough to let him aim better with the second shot. The pounding footsteps stopped, and a moment later was replaced with that of a body hitting the snow-covered ground.

Tony kept his eyes trained into the dark, letting his pupils adjust. "Barnes?" he called. "You good in there?"

"All clear," Barnes responded, though his voice wasn't the steadiest.

"I'm going to go make sure this last one isn't faking," Tony said. "Back in two."

"Got it."

Tony kept the gauntlets carefully in front of him as he advanced on the fallen man. The Hydra agent didn't move. Tony used a toe to roll him over, and he didn't react to that, either, his head lolling limply back to smack against the stone. Tony crouched to check the pulse. Couldn't find one. Good. The world could do with a few less Hydra agents.

Shots split the night. " _Stark!_ " Barnes' voice spiraled upward with pain or panic or both.

Tony was already running.

Barnes hadn't fired again, which was bad news. He hadn't shouted again, either, which was probably worse.

Tony ran harder. Ten more steps, dammit.

When he threw himself back into the shack, he found four more Hydra goons struggling with Barnes, apparently trying to subdue him rather than simply kill him. One of them had hold of Barnes' arm, and had knocked the pistol away; another had arms wrapped around Barnes' face and neck. The others were trying to grab his furiously kicking good leg. His crudely-splinted leg was dragging awkwardly, which couldn't be doing it any good.

"JARVIS," Tony snapped, "come to daddy."

The two attackers who hadn't grabbed Barnes yet spun around at the sound of Tony's voice, but it was too late; the helmet was closing over Tony's head. The targeting system was online and the threat analysis already complete. "Do what you do best, J," Tony said. Four micromissiles shot from the armor's shoulder, and four Hydra agents fell to the floor.

Tony jumped to catch Barnes before he could fall, nearly stumbling over the bodies littering the floor. Tony lowered Barnes back to the bed, and started looking him over for fresh or re-opened injuries.

While Tony worked, JARVIS reassembled the armor in its resting place in the corner. Barnes ignored Tony, watching the armor rebuild itself. His eyes were wide and slightly wild as they flicked to the seven Hydra bodies on the floor, bleeding and burned. He looked back at Tony, opened his mouth to speak, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.


	5. Small Kindnesses

"You're still here."

Tony, sitting on the floor and tangled in a frame of rebar and cable, glanced toward the cot, then looked back at his welding. "Hey, you woke up."

"So that was all real? I didn't hallucinate it on the table?"

"Nope. Don't look directly at the welding torch, please; the kit only had one pair of goggles."

"I'm not an idiot, Stark."

Tony laughed and scooted sideways, eying the join and reaching for another scrap of solder. "Call me Tony," he said. "Stark is Howard. Little silly to stand on formality after a night like that, anyway."

"Yeah? Yeah, okay. I'm Bucky, then."

"Turns out I knew that already."

Bucky grunted in response to that, and then said, "Any more aspirin in that medkit?"

Tony looked back up. Bucky was looking pretty pale and sweaty, and the muscles in his jaw were working hard. "Yeah. Yeah, give me just a sec to get out of..." He squirmed out of the framework and reached for the medkit.

Bucky took the pills Tony handed him, then swallowed them down with a swig of water from a tin cup. "We have enough water?"

Tony snorted. "Snowmelt."

"Good. 'M thirsty." Bucky swallowed the rest of the water in the cup, then held it out, mutely asking for more. Tony refilled the cup for him, and Bucky gulped that down, held the cup out again. All in all, he emptied it four times before he finally set it aside with a brusque sigh. "Now I gotta piss."

"Idiot," Tony said, not realizing until after the word had left his mouth that Bucky might actually be insulted by it. Bucky only shrugged, though, and struggled to sit up. "Jesus, slow down," Tony chided. "Here." He shuffled his frame out of the center of the floor, then helped Bucky stand and limp-hop outside and toward the downslope side of the shack.

Tony ignored Bucky's hissing in pain with every jolting step -- there wasn't much either of them could do about it -- and did his best to keep his assistance as minimal and impersonal as possible. "Broke my arm a couple of years ago," he said, studiously facing the other direction and talking just loud enough to cover the sound of the stream hitting the rocks and dirt. "Completely ridiculous. I had to re-learn how to do practically _everything_. It took weeks."

By the time Tony got Bucky back inside and settled on the cot, Bucky was pale and sweating from the effort and the pain. He leaned back against the wall, panting, and said, "Well, that was embarrassing as all hell. Reckon I owe Steve an apology."

Tony started worming back into his rebar frame, welding torch in hand. "What for?"

Bucky snorted. "Used to have to... y'know, _before_. If he was feeling particularly poorly, I'd have to help him to the loo and stuff. He always bitched up a storm about it, and I'd just push him off. Just doing what had ta be done, I said, weren't nothing to get worked up over. Bein' on the other side, though... Might have to take it back, next time I see him."

"Or you could listen to what you yourself said," Tony said, smirking. "Just doing what has to be done."

Bucky grunted. "What the hell are you building, anyway?"

"Carry rig," Tony said shortly. He finished the weld and sat back to let it set. "It probably would have been a while before anyone realized the guards here were gone, but someone will have already noticed that Hydra squad didn't report back in. We should be gone before they send out a search party."

"Yeah, probably. And I can't walk out with my leg like this. So, what, you're gonna strap me to a rack and drag my ass across the rocks? Don't know if that's such a great idea."

"Nah, the suit flies."

"Say that again," Bucky challenged.

"The suit," Tony said, over-enunciating and being a complete asshole about it, "flies." He looked up to give Bucky his best I'm-a-dick grin. "I carry the others all the time, the ones that can't fly themselves. Drop our sniper on the best vantage point, ferry Steve to someone who needs cover, collect wounded and bring them back to a med station. Of course, usually I'm carrying someone who can hang on for themselves, or in the case of wounded, it's not too far to go, so the risks outweigh the chance that the flight will hurt them further.

"You, on the other hand, you're in pretty lousy shape, and we're going way more than a few city blocks. We'll need to go a couple hundred miles, and a lot of that will be across the mountains. It'll be rough, and it'll take hours, and since we're in the middle of hostile territory, I'll want my hands free for defense. So: a carry rig. Frame and harness sort of thing. It'll strap you to my back and hopefully minimize the additional damage you take."

Bucky chewed on his lip thoughtfully as he considered the frame. "Where you figure on going?"

"France, probably. It's closest."

Bucky made a face. "I want to hook back up with my unit," he argued. "Keep Steve from doing... whatever stupid damn thing he's going to do without me there to keep him in line."

"I'm not entirely certain that it can be avoided," Tony said, frowning. "Anyway, if I take you back to the Howling Commandos, they're going to have to ship you off to a hospital right anyway, right? My way will be faster, more direct. We can send Steve a telegram when we get you there, okay?"

Bucky tipped his head back, his throat working, and Tony went back to his welding so they could both pretend that Bucky wasn't fighting tears. "Yeah," Bucky said, finally, his voice rough. "Yeah, I guess the arm's gonna buy me a ticket home, ain't it?"

And Jesus, Tony felt for the guy. He'd be going home alone, disabled and traumatized, and expected to find a way to live on a noncom's pension and whatever work a one-armed guy could scrounge in the soon-to-be-postwar economy. Tony didn't know if Bucky still had any friends left in Brooklyn, but Tony _did_ know that Bucky's _closest_ friends were all here in Europe. Especially Steve.

They were going to send Bucky home to Brooklyn, but he was going to continue living here in Europe, in the war, for a long damn time. And from the way he was swallowing as he stared fixedly at the ceiling, his eyes just a little too wide, he already knew it.

Tony swallowed and extricated himself from the frame again. "My turn to take a leak," he said. "I'll do a quick patrol, too, while I'm out, see if there's anything worth seeing now that it's light out."

It was all Tony could think to do for him. Bucky wasn't the kind of man who'd let himself cry where someone else could see him.

***

Flying with Bucky, even strapped to the rig, was a nightmare. Tony couldn't go too high or Bucky would freeze. He couldn't fly too low or they'd be spotted. He couldn't go too fast, either, and he had to stop every half-hour or so to double-check the straps and Bucky's health.

Bucky was a fucking trooper about it. Despite the cold and the pain and what had to be mortal terror from hanging in the air and having to trust Tony not to drop him, he swore at every stop that he was doing fine, ready to continue on. Tony was impressed as hell and beginning to understand why Steve was so hung up on the guy.

Even if Bucky wasn't so much "stretching the truth" as "lying through his teeth" about the feeling fine thing. Bucky was tough, but pain and bloodloss and shock were all taking their obvious toll. The last two times Tony stopped to check on him, close to dawn, Bucky hung limply in the rig, barely responding to Tony's prodding. It was with a sense of profound relief that Tony landed on the outskirts of a burnt-out and abandoned farmhouse in southern France and cut Bucky free of the rig so he could finally lie down and rest properly.

Breathing a silent prayer of thanks to Clint and Natasha for the tricks they'd taught him, Tony hid Bucky and the armor in the barn, then slipped into the sleepy town. He found some nondescript clothes hanging on a line that would fit him, more or less, or at least they would be less conspicuous than his high-tech flight suit. Then he broke into what looked like the general store and stole a little money out of the till -- not a lot, just a handful of coins and a few smaller bills. Seed money, he thought, his mind already ticking ahead and plotting his options. He made a mental note to come back and repay the store when he could.

Then he went back to the farmhouse. Bucky was still asleep, so Tony didn't bother him. The hayloft's support beams were blackened and crumbling, which made it unlikely that any other passersby would climb up. So Tony hid the armor in the loft under the straw, and did some subtle reinforcing to keep the loft from _actually_ collapsing. He put JARVIS on standby and set up a few different methods of identification in case it turned out that he'd have to send someone else to collect it.

By the time that was done, it was mid-morning. Tony checked on Bucky and found, to his alarm, that Bucky had developed a fever. God dammit. It wasn't particularly high, but it wasn't a good sign that Bucky had developed it  _now_ , more than a day after he'd first been injured. It made getting Bucky to a hospital a much higher priority than it had already been. Tony walked back to the town, less obtrusively this time, and hailed the first vehicle he encountered, a farmer's truck bringing produce to the market.

Tony unlimbered his French and told the farmer that he and his friend had been lost in the mountains and only now found their way to town, and that his friend was badly hurt, and please, couldn't they get a ride to the nearest hospital?

The old man seemed bemused by Tony's accent, and slightly suspicious, until Tony pulled the money from his pocket and offered to pay. Honor sufficiently pricked, the man frowned and tutted at Tony to put his money away, and followed Tony's instructions back to the barn. The last of his suspicion melted as soon as he saw Bucky, who after all was still in the uniform of a soldier. The old man climbed out of the truck to help Tony lift Bucky into the bed, clicking his teeth over how very young Bucky seemed, which Tony couldn't disagree with.

It was nearly a two-hour drive (through poorly-maintained back-country roads, at top speeds of around thirty-five miles an hour) to a town big enough for a hospital. Tony tried not to worry as Bucky's skin grew waxy and damp with sweat, and Bucky remained unconscious despite all the jolting.

Tony wondered more than once if he had altered the events of history only to have to watch Bucky die. Tiredly, he reminded himself that death was probably better than whatever Hydra had done to Bucky to create the Winter Soldier. It wasn't much comfort.

The hospital asked no questions, for which Tony was grateful. A pair of orderlies seemed to materialize out of nowhere as Tony carried Bucky in. They lifted Bucky onto a stretcher and carried him away to be triaged and treated.

He was watching Bucky disappearing down the sterile-white hallway when a soft, feminine voice said in thickly-accented English, "Excuse me, monsieur, pardon?"

Tony jumped and turned to look at the -- nurse? orderly? -- at his shoulder. "Yes?"

"I am very sorry, monsieur, but we are very crowded. I must ask you to leave now. You may return to visit your friend tomorrow, perhaps, if the doctors are satisfied, _non_?"

" _Non_ ," Tony said. "I mean, _oui_. Tomorrow, then. Thank you, mademoiselle."

He left the hospital and found his way to a post office, where the seed money in his pocket purchased two telegrams: one to Steve, care of the Howling Commando's last known base of operations, according to Bucky; and the other to a bank office in Switzerland. Then he retired to the café across the street to nurse a cup of coffee bought with the last of the seed money, and wait for an answer, and brood.

He could leave Bucky here, Tony thought, in the capable hands of the hospital. He probably _should_ leave Bucky here, really. Tony had mucked up the timeline enough already as it was, and he needed to be focused on figuring out how to get himself home, if that was even possible, not making friends and altering Tony's own past.

Bucky probably wouldn't even miss him. As badly injured as he was, he'd probably be perfectly happy to write off whatever he remembered of Tony as a fever dream.

By the time the telegram operator had come out into the street to wave at him, Tony had made up his mind.


	6. Balanced Equations

Without JARVIS or even a laptop to crunch the numbers for him, Tony's brain was moving far too fast for his calculations. He drew a line down the center of the page and scrawled half-finished math down the left, leaving the right for tracking assumptions and variables.

Christ, no wonder they couldn't get any serious science done in the 40s, Tony thought, grumbling under his breath. Every time he needed to change a vector or update a ratio, the math had to be refigured from the beginning. He muttered and flipped the page in his notebook, drew another line. He needed JARVIS.

Which meant he had to figure out a way to hide the suit in the hotel.

The math for time travel wasn't just four-dimensional; if it was, Tony would have solved it when he was fourteen. No: once you started folding time, it -- for lack of a better term -- sagged into the dimensions that exceeded it, and those dimensions were demonstrably unstable.

The hotel suite Tony had rented had a wardrobe that was big enough to hold the suit, but Tony was pretty sure the maid would open it while she was cleaning. He didn't need any hysterical staff on his hands; his conversational French was excellent it was but not up to discussing n-dimensional string theory -- which hadn't even been _invented_ yet -- with whatever the French equivalent of the SSR was.

Even if he figured out how to create the time-fold and keep it stable, the power requirements were going to be unpleasantly exponential. For every pound that had to travel -- wait, it would be easier to do that math in kilograms -- either way, even if Tony left the suit behind ( _fat chance_ ) and went through completely stark ( _ha!_ ) naked, it would require enough power to light up a small city for a week, at least. And all Tony had to work with were the miniaturized arc reactors in the suit.

Or worse, he might simply be turned over to the SSR, where he would unquestionably be brought face-to-face with his father, who was currently _younger than Tony_. No. Just... No. Not unless all else was about to fail. Tony supposed he could keep the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door around the clock. No, that would draw even more suspicion.

Tony eyed the six-dimensional matrix he'd doodled. It looked like it might actually be stable by itself, but he wasn't sure whether the eigenvectors would collapse nearly so neatly, and he'd have to run those down through at least three -- no, four iterations, which even _with_ JARVIS' help would take some time. Without it, the calculations would take the better part of a day.

Tony tossed the pen on to the notebook and reached his arms over his head, leaning back slowly into a stretch until he'd felt his vertebrae pop. Then he rubbed at his face; the lamps of the 40s were going to be terrible for his eyes. He might have to actually confine his work to the daylight hours. Which would slow him down _even more_.

Speaking of which... Tony checked the ticking clock by the unused bed, and grimaced. Yep. He'd forgotten to go to bed. He drew the blackout curtains back from the windows to let the early morning sun in, and some much-needed fresh air. He rubbed at his face again and looked out at the street, already beginning to bustle. He could just see the hospital from here.

He wondered how Bucky was doing.

No. _No_. He should just forget Bucky, let the man live his damn life. Tony needed to focus on getting himself home.

***

"I knew you were real," Bucky rasped.

Tony smirked but pointedly didn't look up from the notepad where he was calculating a polynomial distribution. "Bucky-bear, you are not nearly imaginative enough to have made _me_ up, I promise you."

"How long've you been sitting there?"

There wasn't a clock where Tony could see one, but he was pretty sure it was somewhere around three, maybe three and a half hours. "Just got here," he lied. "You think I don't have anything better to do than watch you sleep?" Sitting at the hotel, sitting at a cafe, sitting in a chair in the hospital -- it was all the same, really, anyway. Tony had brought a couple of notebooks and pens to work with, and there was a lot of complicated math he needed to sort out. And he couldn't fetch JARVIS and the armor until after nightfall, even if he _did_ have somewhere safe to put it. Which he still didn't. "You look better than the last I saw you." Tony leaned forward to lay the back of his hand against Bucky's forehead. "Fever's gone, too."

Bucky suffered the touch calmly. "Always been a quick healer," he said. He glanced around the room, then put his hand over the neat bandages covering the stump of his left arm. "Guess that was real, too," he sighed. "Doesn't hurt nearly so much now."

"I expect they've got you on better drugs than what was in that medkit," Tony said.

"Yeah."

Tony sat back in the chair and resumed his math. He had forgotten how much fun it was to do this by hand, slow though it was -- how the numbers slid together in his brain. When the equations balanced correctly, it was like watching trained and choreographed dancers merge and separate, spinning and leaping.

"Tony!"

Tony looked up. "What?"

Bucky was frowning at him. "I been talking for the last five minutes and you ain't heard a damn word."

"Oh. Uh. Yeah, math can do that to me."

"I asked where you got the book and the clothes, Tony."

"Oh." Tony looked down at himself. They weren't tailored to him, but they fit well enough. "Bought 'em."

"Where'd you get money?"

"I had it wired. It's my money," Tony said, cutting off the next obvious question. "After Dad died, all his accounts got turned over to me."

"He ain't dead yet, in case you hadn't figured that math," Bucky said.

"Relax, will you? He had -- has -- an account in Switzerland that hadn't been -- won't have been? -- god, time-travel verbs are the _worst_. Anyway, when I got it, the account hadn't been touched, not even to change the passcodes, since 1943. I think he probably set it up as a fallback when they first shipped him out here, and then forgot it was there, as much as he ever forgot -- forgets -- anything. So I figure it's free and clear. It's Stark money and Howard isn't going to use it, so I'm not stealing from anyone but my future self."

Bucky frowned for a moment longer, but eventually nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. How do you remember the account number and passcode for an account you found out about years ago?"

Tony snorted. "Eidetic memory. I remember just about everything that I actually bother to pay attention to. And that one was weird enough to catch my attention."

"Handy."

"Very much so." Tony cocked his head, thinking, watching Bucky watch him warily. "I could siphon off a nest egg for you," he murmured. "Give you some breathing space when you get home so you wouldn't have to worry too much about looking for work."

Bucky was frowning again. "Why?"

Tony shrugged. "It's my fault you'll be going back."

"You're feelin' guilty because I'm alive and free?" Bucky said, suddenly irritable. "You're dumber'n Steve."

Tony grinned. "I'll tell him you said that."

***

Three days later, as Tony was leaving the hospital to return to the hotel, a doctor pulled him aside. "Monseiur, about your friend."

"Yes?"

The doctor hesitated. "It is very difficult to explain, monseiur. His wounds were quite severe when you brought him to us, but now..." The doctor held up an x-ray film for Tony's inspection. "The leg was broken in six places; now only two breaks are clearly visible, and they are both significantly improved over a few days ago. This would normally represent a month or more of healing. The other injuries are healing at a similar rate."

_Oh, fuck_ , Tony thought. Hydra had already begun experimenting on Bucky before Steve had rescued him the first time. Tony had known that, but he hadn't realized that had included a healing factor that was nearly as impressive as Steve's own. Of course that sort of healing would be noticed. The question was, what was he going do about it?

Well, if Bucky still wanted to go back to the Howling Commandos, this was a blessing; it wouldn't be hard at all to arrange for a transfer now that Bucky's health was more stable. But they weren't going to take him back. The arm was gone, and while Bucky healed fast, he wasn't a lizard that would re-grow a missing limb. If Bucky went back to the Howling Commandos, he was going to be discharged.

Either way, it wasn't something that Tony could decide for him. Tomorrow, Tony decided, Bucky would have to decide. And for now: Tony could only stall.

Tony offered the doctor a smile he had practiced often when he was working as a military contractor, a smile of regret and secrets and promises. "I'm afraid I can't talk about it, doctor," he said. "Not without orders. My friend and I were -- are -- on... detached duty." _Spies_ or _assassins_ that meant, and also _stop asking questions now_.

The doctor, thank goodness, caught the hint. "Ah. Well. As long as you're aware and it's not a matter of concern..." The doctor made a show of putting the film away. "If he continues healing at this same pace, we will be able to discharge him in another two days."

"So soon?"

The doctor looked uncomfortable. "I dislike sending patients home before they are fully capable, monsieur, but we are so busy these days..."

"I understand," Tony said. "I'll look into some lodgings for us, then, until we can receive our... orders."

Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out what Bucky wanted. And in the meantime, he finally had an idea of how to hide the suit.


	7. Something Stupid

When Tony got up the next morning, there was a strange energy in the street outside, in the frantic and hushed conversations in the dining room.

Even the morning waiter, who had learned immediately Tony's preference for strong black coffee and absolutely no conversation, could not seem to resist. "Monsieur, you are American, yes? What do you think of it all?"

"Think of what?" Tony demanded, but then he was looking at the newspaper the waiter had thrust under his nose and--

_Le Capitaine Amérique Est Mort?_

Oh, no.

Fuck no.

Oh, fucking _no_.

_Fuck_.

He had known Steve had gone into the ice not long after Bucky's presumed death, but he hadn't realized it had been _this_ soon.

God dammit, he should have taken Bucky back to the 107th after all, instead of relying on a simple telegram. How many points of failure did a telegram have? At least a dozen. God _dammit_.

And Christ, what was he going to tell Bucky? He couldn't keep this a secret for long, but should he wait until Bucky was finished healing, at least? Or until Bucky had made his decision about what to do and where to go?

Except that obviously what Bucky would want to do was go where Steve was. And that... was no longer an option.

Somehow, Tony had fucked up _again_.

When he walked into the hospital, he was still uncertain what to say. But when he got to Bucky's ward, he discovered that the decision had been taken from his hands. There were ten beds in the ward, each separated by no more than a few feet and some curtains, and more than half the patients were soldiers. The news had spread like wildfire, and even though Bucky's French was limited to a soldier's rough trade, it was not news that was hard to understand.

When Tony came into the ward, Bucky was sitting upright in the bed, a newspaper spread across his knees. His mouth was set, but his eyes, when he looked up into Tony's face, were red.

"Somethin' stupid?" he rasped.

Tony swallowed, not trying to hide his own sense of guilt, and nodded.

"Letrac over there says the paper says... he was puttin' down bombs, enough to destroy most of Europe and half of the U.S. That really what happened, or is that some propaganda they cooked up to make it sound good?"

"It's the truth," Tony said, willing Bucky to believe him. "At least, that's how Steve tells it, and I don't think he had any reason to lie to me about it."

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "You send that telegram like we talked about?"

"First day," Tony promised. "Before I even wired for the money, it was the very first--" He broke off, looking down at the immaculately folded blanket at the foot of the bed. "Yes."

"Okay," Bucky said softly. "Did what we could, then, I expect. He'll have made up his mind after he weighed his options as much as he ever did, which wasn't ever much, you understand."

Tony managed a hint of a smile. "No." He hesitated. "I'm sorry, Bucky. I wish I... had done more."

"Yeah. Well." Bucky swallowed, so hard Tony could hear it. "Go away, Tony. Close the curtains on your way out. I want to be alone."

Tony looked up to see tears running freely down Bucky's face. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I understand."

***

Tony debated long and hard with himself before returning to the hospital the next day. Bucky probably didn't want anything to do with him, but the doctor had said they would discharge Bucky today, and Tony figured the least he could do was see Bucky comfortably situated and arrange transport to... wherever it was Bucky wanted to go.

Tony waited where they told him to, and after an hour or so, he saw Bucky limping down the hall toward him, a crutch under his good arm and a pretty nurse's arm around his waist. Tony almost smiled at that; it seemed Steve had not been exaggerating much about Bucky's legendary charm with the ladies.

He stopped when he saw Tony, and the hint of smile on his face fell away. He didn't try to avoid Tony, though, limped right up and raised his eyebrows. "Guess you're stuck with me for a while longer," he said before Tony could speak. He sounded grieved and weary, but neither angry nor disgusted, which was frankly more than Tony had hoped for. "You got a plan?"

"Of sorts," Tony said. "Come on, I'll show you."

Bucky followed in silence as Tony led the way out of the hospital and down the street, but he balked when he saw the waiting car. "Tony, tell me you didn't buy a godda--" Bucky bit down on the curse with a quick glance at the passersby, then continued, "Tell me you didn't buy a car."

"Of course not," Tony said. "It's hired, just for today. Even if I knew for certain I was never going home, I'm pretty certain I wouldn't want to start acquiring things like cars until I had a place to keep them."

Tony nearly opened the door for Bucky, but made himself walk around to the driver's side instead. He suspected Bucky wouldn't thank him for any sort of unasked-for assistance, not even a simple courtesy.

Cars had been one of the few things Tony and his father had enjoyed together, but Tony's passion had always been for sports cars, and after Howard's death, he had donated most of Howard's antique street vehicles to the charity foundation. It had been more than twenty years since Tony had driven anything this old, but he'd already practiced some the previous day when he'd taken it out to the old farmhouse to collect the suit, so the car lurched only a little as Tony got it underway and slid into the street.

"So what's the plan?" Bucky asked. He was holding onto his stump, which he'd started doing a few days earlier and which Tony had eventually realized was a gesture taking the place of crossing his arms.

"I've rented a cottage, about twenty miles outside the city," Tony said. "It's quiet; it should be an ideal spot for me to work on my, er, transportation issues. There's plenty of space for you to finish recovering -- not that it'll take long, apparently -- and you can rest while you figure out where you want to go next. I'll be happy to help you with that, of course."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why would you... Tony, you barely know me. I mean, I appreciate the rescue and all, don't get me wrong, but... I kinda figured you'd be in the wind as soon as you'd dropped me at the hospital, you know? Why d'you keep coming back? I don't need to be taken care of."

"I know," Tony said, "believe me, I do." He glanced at Bucky sidelong, then faced the road studiously. "It's as much for my own comfort as yours, if I have to be honest. You're really my only link to home right now. So I feel like I ought to take care of you as best I can. Even though I know you don't need it."

"How the hell am I a link to-- Oh, because of Steve," Bucky answered his own question. He sighed and looked out the window. "He's really gonna survive crashing that plane?"

"Yeah," Tony said. "I wish I could've stopped him, found a better way, but... He'll survive it. He's a hell of a guy."

"Yeah." Bucky was quiet for a few minutes, and then, "So, who's his best friend?"

"You."

"Ha, ha. I meant in the future, jerk."

"Wasn't trying to be funny," Tony said. "He talks about you all the damn time, and it still kills him that he let you fall."

"Let me-- He didn't _let me_ fall, I just _fell!_ "

"I was pretty sure that was the case," Tony assured him, and suppressed a grin at the way Bucky was grumbling under his breath. "But aside from you, he's probably closest to Natasha and Sam."

"Not you? No offense, but you talk like he's maybe the best thing you got going."

Tony sighed a little. "It's like a dance," he confessed. "We start to get close, and then I do something he disapproves of, and he yells at me and we're back to where we started. We're friends, don't get me wrong, and he's one of the very few people I would trust absolutely, no questions asked, but... Well, it's not exactly a romance for the ages."

Bucky gave him a long look, then snorted. "Sounds like Steve t'me. Little shit needed a damn bucket to carry all his grudges in. Worse'n a dame for bringing up stuff you'd done years earlier in the middle of a damn argument."

Tony did grin at that. "I mostly deserve it, though, is the thing."

"Who doesn't?" Bucky demanded. "It's how he gets you, 'cause you can't fight back when you're feeling guilty."

"Thank god," Tony said with a laugh. "I thought it was just me."

"Nah," Bucky said. "Steve doesn't pull any punches just 'cause he likes someone. Hell, the more he likes you, the rougher he'll get, 'cause he figures friends ought to trust each other to tell the unvarnished truth and still be friends when they've come out the other side of it."

"Huh." Tony looked over at Bucky. He was slumped in the seat a little, rubbing at his stump through the bandages and staring out the window. "I hadn't considered it like that. That's... huh. You've put a lot of thought into this, I guess."

"Some. I mean, I knew he was an argumentative cuss all along, but it wasn't until about a year ago, we had a big fight about, uh, well, a bunch of stuff, really. It was Agent Carter who put it all into words, while he was off stamping around bein' pissy." Bucky sighed. "Don't s'pose she made it to your time?"

"She did, but the same way everyone else does, one day at time," Tony admitted. "Steve goes to see her when he can, but he always comes back all torn up about it, like he thinks he should be able to punch old age and make it leave her alone."

Bucky grunted. "Yeah, he don't like being helpless, not one bit. And she's one hell of a lady, I've gotta give him that."

"So I've heard. And there's the village, which means the road to the cottage is right around here somewhere."


	8. Sweet Home

Now that he had the suit at hand again, Tony made much better headway with the math. Wearing the helmet to talk to JARVIS wasn't nearly as flexible as having his accustomed workshop with its suite of holoscreens, but it beat the hell out of paper and pen.

Bucky spent the rest of the first day exploring the cabin and the surrounding area, limping gingerly on his mostly-healed leg and crutch. He did a little to make the place more secure and defensible. Tony thought that was probably unnecessary, but after looking at the way Bucky's jaw was knotted, Tony decided that it wasn't hurting anything either.

There were two bedrooms in the cottage. Bucky didn't argue when Tony claimed the master bedroom, of course. In high spirits, he dropped his small handful of belongings on one of the beds in what was obviously intended to be the children's room, crowing about finally having a little quiet and privacy after days in a crowded hospital ward, following months of tents and barracks.

However, when it came time for bed, Tony slept uneasily, when he slept at all, jumping at unfamiliar sounds and smells and a night that was much darker and quieter than he'd ever expected it to be. As soon as the sun began to rise, he got up with a feeling of relief. Rubbing at his scratchy face, he headed for the living room to resume work, only to trip over Bucky, who was curled on the floor just outside Tony's door.

"What the hell?" he demanded.

Bucky scrambled to his feet, apologizing and looking shamefaced. "Haven't had a room to myself since I was six," he admitted. "Shared with my brother, then shared with Steve, then, well, the Army. Apparently it's a thing a fella gets used to. I just couldn't… I needed to know I wasn't alone, I guess."

Tony thought about that and nodded thoughtfully. "There's twin beds in that room of yours?"

Bucky nodded quickly. "Yeah. I'll stay in there tonight, I promise. I'm sorry, I wasn't--"

"Jesus, stop apologizing," Tony grumbled, pushing past Bucky and heading for the kitchen. "It's not like you were molesting me in my sleep or anything." He got the stove working and put water in the kettle. "My room was too quiet, too. I'll sleep in your room tonight, we'll see if that helps."

"You don't have t--"

"Both of us, it helps _both_ of us," Tony interrupted impatiently. "I just said that, pay attention. Make us some coffee, would you? I'm going to get cleaned up."

***

Tony wasn't even properly mired in the math yet when Bucky knocked on the helmet. He flipped the faceplate up to find Bucky dressed and freshly-groomed, his hair damp and slicked back and his sleeve neatly pinned. "What is it?"

"Give me some money."

Tony laughed at the sheer absurdity. "You know, I don't think I've ever actually been anyone's sugar daddy before."

Bucky looked startled, and then scowled.

Tony held up his hands. "Joke, it was a joke, Jesus."

"Not a joking matter, Tony," Bucky grumbled. "I don't much care if you're a fairy, but if someone overhears you and reports..."

Tony lifted his eyebrows. "First of all, who's going to overhear? Second of all, who would they report me to? We're in France, it's legal here, even now. France is very forward-thinking. And third, _it was a joke_ , I joke a lot, my mouth runs and things come out and many of those things are not serious. Christ. I can't wait to get back home."

Bucky stared at him. "It's... not illegal to be queer in the future? Back home, I mean?"

"Nope." Tony rubbed at his eyes. "No, don't ask, I'm not getting into the future-history of sexual and gender politics right now. What was it that you wanted?"

"Money," Bucky reiterated.

"What for?"

"Leg's mostly better, but it needs some stretching and exercise. Figured I'd walk into town and pick us up something to cook up for dinner."

As plans went, that one wasn't terrible. "Okay, sure, but be careful on your leg." Tony dug into his pocket for the clipped stack of francs and handed some to Bucky. "Buy yourself something pretty, too," he deadpanned.

Bucky glared, then rolled his eyes and snorted as he stuffed the money into his own pocket. "Punk."

Tony grinned, and flipped his faceplate back down. "Sometimes."

***

Bucky could actually cook, it turned out. Nothing fancy, but he roasted a chicken and some potatoes (unpeeled, because that was a job that needed two hands) with some herbs that he'd found in the cottage garden. He'd brought a bottle of wine (of course there was wine, it was _France_ ) to wash it all down with, too, and the meal was damn good, as it turned out.

By the time the sun set, the chicken had been picked to the bones, the bottle was down to its dregs, and Tony was feeling as relaxed and mellow as he'd been in the past week. Bucky leaned back in his chair and held up his glass to look at Tony through the pale golden liquid. "You reckon you'll actually be able to find your way home?"

Tony rolled his own glass between his palms thoughtfully. "The math is pulling together," he said. "Complicated as it is, it _does_ actually work. Problem is, even if the theory is perfect, I'm not sure I can _do_ it. Folding space is a huge power drain; it's why we don't have instant transport ironed out yet. Folding _time_? My initial estimate was that I'd need enough power to run a city just to transport a single kilo; it's looking like that was off by a factor of at least ten. And I weigh a hell of a lot more than a kilo. Only the Asgardians know how to generate that kind of power and keep it contained."

Bucky's face wasn't giving away how much of that he'd followed. "Asgardians -- that's that god-fellow on your team that you told me about?"

"Alien," Tony corrected idly, "but Thor's one of 'em, yeah." He drained the last mouthful of wine from his glass, but didn't set it down, frowning as his thoughts chased each other into the problem. "Might end up having to introduce myself to Dad after all, and to hell with the paradox issue," he sighed.

"So the problem is the weight?" Bucky asked. He tipped his head back to look at the ceiling.

"That's it in a nutshell," Tony affirmed. He picked up the wine bottle, just in case any new wine had spontaneously materialized in it since he'd poured out the last glass. None had. He set the bottle back down. "That and the duration."

"You couldn't just, like, send a note or something small?"

Tony sat up straight. "What did you say?"

Bucky grimaced and drank off the last of his wine. "Leave the thinking to the genius, got it, dumb idea."

"No, nope," Tony said. "Not what I said. Not even _remotely_. Tell me what you just said."

"Uh." Bucky looked at him uncertainly. "I asked if you couldn't just send through something small. Like a note. For your alien friend. Since he's got the, the whatever-it-is that got you here in the first place."

More than the wine was making Tony's head spin. He laughed delightedly. "I take back every nasty thing I ever said or thought about you for shooting at me. Every single one!"

"I've never shot at you," Bucky said. "If I had, you'd know it."

Tony pointed at him, grinning. "You haven't yet. I've probably fucked up the timeline so bad at this point that I've _literally_ taken those comments back, but I'll deal with that later. You are a blessing and a joy and I would kiss you if I didn't expect it would get me punched." He cackled like a madman and ran for the helmet.

***

It was well past midnight when JARVIS interrupted Tony's systematic torture of the laws of physics. "Sir," he said, "you may wish to save your progress and get some rest."

"What?" Tony demanded. "It's only midnight, JARV, not even close to our agreed shutdown time, what are you talking about?"

JARVIS faded out the HUD so that Tony could see properly through the helmet's eyeslits. Bucky was sitting in the armchair across from Tony. There was a cup and saucer on the table at his elbow. A matching set was beside Tony, holding what looked like tea, untouched and long since gone cold. Bucky had stripped down to his undershirt for bed, but was asleep in the chair, hand tucked into the armpit of his stump and chin dropped to his chest.

Tony had promised to sleep in the second bed tonight, he suddenly recalled. Because it was too quiet for both of them when they were alone. And so Bucky had been _waiting_.

Apparently Bucky had found it easier to sleep upright in a chair, listening to Tony mutter nonsense at JARVIS, than alone in a bed.

Crap. Tony winced, because he was an asshole. And possibly an idiot. "Right, J, save and sleep. And, uh, maybe move the shutdown time back a bit, for the duration."

"What an excellent idea, sir." JARVIS managed to sound both totally sincere and utterly sarcastic.

God, Tony loved JARVIS.

He set the helmet aside, and Bucky jolted awake as soon as Tony stood up. "All done?"

Christ, but Bucky was on a hair trigger. He didn't even sound groggy. Was he going to wake up every time Tony so much as turned over? Well, that wasn't Tony's problem, at least. "Done for the night, anyway. You didn't need to wait up."

Bucky shrugged, and his eyes slid sideways uneasily. Obviously, he didn't want to admit to his unease, so Tony let it go. He picked up the cold teacup and gulped down a few swallows. "Thanks for this," he said. "Sorry I didn't see it there."

"Yeah, sure," Bucky said, a little more easily. He took his own cup into the kitchen. "As long as I was making one cup, figured I might as well make two. Didn't realize until I brought 'em out that you probably couldn't drink it anyway, what with the faceplate and all."

"It's okay. I appreciate the thought." Tony gulped down the last of the cold tea -- it tasted terrible now, but no worse than one of DUM-E's smoothies, and he probably needed the fluids. "Let's get some shut-eye." He led the way into the smaller bedroom and dropped onto the narrow bed that wasn't already rumpled from previous use.

Bucky followed, shucking off his pants before sliding under the covers of his bed. For a few minutes, they both tossed and turned, settling into the unfamiliar beds and trying to get comfortable, and then they were both quiet.

Focusing on the quiet rhythm of Bucky's breathing did, actually, help Tony keep the unaccustomed quiet at bay, but he was still full of theory and math. He considered parameters and possibilities that spiraled one into another, and eventually he rode the path of the golden ratio down into sleep.


	9. Under the Cold Stars

The next evening, Bucky made chicken soup from the previous night's carcass, and there was crusty bread and (naturally) more wine. When the bread was gone and they were about halfway through the wine, Bucky said, "I want to go."

Tony blinked. He took a drink from his glass to cover his sudden, irrational sense of abandonment. "You're a free man," he said when he'd swallowed. "Whatever you need, we'll make it happen. The easiest thing would be to get you to the nearest American base--"

"No," Bucky interrupted. "I mean, I want to go with you. Back to your time."

That was even more preposterous. Tony set his glass down with a thump and stared at Bucky. "What?"

Bucky was staring into the bottom of his empty bowl as if hoping to divine his fortune from the sodden herbs and smears of grease. "If it's possible, I mean." He was breathing shallow and just a bit fast. "Please."

"I don't... Why?"

Bucky took a deep breath, steeling himself, then looked up, his expression haunted. "That's where Steve is."

Tony grunted. He should have expected that answer. "Bucky, I know it sounds like a great idea now, but I can't even imagine what that would do to the timeline--"

"How much can it hurt?" Bucky asked, his voice low but defiant. "You already said you screwed things up just by saving me. If I disappear, then as far as the world is concerned, I'm back to being dead. Maybe taking me back with you will actually make things less of a mess."

Tony frowned, but Bucky bulled ahead. "The stuff you said, it sounds like maybe he's still... still missing me at his back. Hasn't found anyone to replace me with yet, anyhow."

That thought made the center of Tony's chest ache. "Bucky, you don't just _replace_ \--"

"So if I'm there, then he doesn't have to. Doesn't have to get past it, doesn't have to find someone else."

Tony massaged his temples. "Of course he'd be thrilled to have you back, but still, there's... The future is a complicated place, Buck. God, just to get you acclimated--"

"He managed it, right?" Bucky had gone from determined to pleading desperately. " _Please._ There's nothing left for me here, Tony."

"You have family," Tony said, trying to be gentle. "A brother, your sisters."

"They'll have already had that telegram, though, won't they? Body recovered or not, if Steve didn't think I could've survived, won't anyone else, either. They'll mourn, but they'll move on. We weren't close, not like Steve and me. Besides, if I stayed, if I resurfaced, I'd just..." Bucky waved his hand helplessly. "What would I even do?"

Tony picked up his glass, took another sip. "What would you do if you came with me?" he asked, trying not to make it a challenge.

Bucky bit his lip. "Whatever I have to do. It's what I've always done -- whatever the hell I _have_ to do, to be allowed to stay with him. 'Cause when I'm not with him... that's when everything always goes to hell for me. So I'll do whatever it takes." His mouth set firm, and he looked up into Tony's eyes. "And if you won't do it for me, then do it for Steve. Tell me he wouldn't want this. Tell me _he_ doesn't deserve this, Tony."

That ache in Tony's chest dug deeper. Steve had a way of bringing out the best in people, it was true. Tony had witnessed it time and again, how Steve's support and even mere _presence_ stiffened spines, firmed resolve, and encouraged more thoughtful action. Tony wasn't immune -- even if he and Steve still argued often, Tony was twice as careful about his choices when he knew Steve was watching. Tony had wished, more than once since he'd opened his eyes to that snowy mountain landscape, for Steve's shrewd intellect and sharp wit.

And if Tony was missing Steve's grounding and support, how must Bucky feel? Bucky had spent his entire life under Steve's influence. It must feel like the sun had dropped out of the sky.

Tony took another sip from his glass, not taking his eyes off Bucky. He didn't answer.

Instead, he thought about the Winter Soldier and his refusal to shoot Steve.

He thought about the years -- _decades_ \-- of conditioning that the Winter Soldier was fighting, because of Steve.

He thought about Steve pleading with the team on the Winter Soldier's behalf.

He thought about the team's easy acquiescence to Steve's driving need to recover Bucky, even when the Winter Soldier was actively hurting them.

He thought about the kind of devotion that spanned a lifetime.

Tony refilled his glass. Then he got up from the table, carrying it with him, and walked out into the warm night. Bucky didn't try to follow him.

With no nearby city light to dilute them, the stars were brilliant. Tony sipped the wine and looked up at the familiar constellations, jewels set in a velvet sky, and thought about how much Steve had given up, in his unintended leap into the future. He thought about how hard Steve worked and fought for the team. He thought about the ache in Steve's expression whenever he returned from a visit to the rapidly-failing Peggy; about nights Tony had come up from the workshop in the small hours to find Steve alone on the balcony, looking out over the city, quietly but desperately mourning. About how Steve's pain seemed to bleed into Tony's own.

Tony thought about the man who had laid his life down and sacrificed everything, only to open his eyes to a new world where he was expected to continue fighting with barely a pause, even though everything and everyone he'd cared most about was lost to him.

Then he thought about how well that same description might apply to Bucky, right here and now in 1945.

The stars no longer looked like warm jewels but the unblinking stares of a billion cold and unfeeling gods, and so Tony closed his eyes and thought about math and physics, about probabilities and vector currents and displacement fields.

He went back inside. Bucky was still sitting at the table, rubbing absently at his stump through the pinned-up sleeve. He looked up when Tony shut the door, his face carefully neutral.

"All right," Tony said without preamble.

"Yeah? And... you think it's possible?"

"Unless I'm stuck as well. But as long as I can get back, then I don't think there's anything in the math to stop you coming with me."

Bucky's eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened, he gave Tony a genuine, grateful smile. It was a beautiful, dangerous expression, nearly as compelling as Steve's so-rare smiles. "Okay, then. Together it is."


	10. The First Step Is a Doozy

With JARVIS to help crunch numbers, the math was the easy part. It only took two more days to find a fold that would remain stable enough to use, and then a few more days to design a device that could implement the math.

Actually building the device was trickier. Tools with the precision Tony needed simply didn't exist, and a lot of what _did_ exist was already earmarked for military use. Twice, Tony had to put on the suit and raid one of the remaining German supply posts for the equipment he needed.

At least Bucky seemed to enjoy this phase of the work much more, even though it was taking longer. And that made sense, once Tony thought about it. For one thing, there was a plan in place; it seemed the Winter Soldier's obsession with missions had been built upon Bucky's own core need for direction. For another, Bucky was making himself useful -- a third hand was helpful in steadying components, and he walked into the village almost every day to run errands and collect packages. And finally, Bucky wasn't having to keep himself entertained. With the theoretical and design work mostly complete, Tony didn't need to constantly wear the helmet to remain in touch with JARVIS, which freed him to make conversation while they worked.

So in addition to building a device to cheat the laws of physics, Tony found himself giving Bucky a primer on the future. It started out when Bucky asked about flying cars. Tony had laughed and then spent the better part of a week running down the most ubiquitous scientific advances -- innovations such as computers and cell phones and microwave ovens, and then things that were more or less common knowledge, like medical advances and space travel.

That segued to a couple of days of sketching in the bare essentials of major world events. Bucky was disappointed (if unsurprised) to know that World War Two wasn't the last of its type, but heartened to know that there hadn't (yet) been another of its scope. Of course, discussing history led fairly directly into other political discussions, like feminism and the civil rights movement.

Tony spent another week explaining, and then coaching Bucky in, racial and gender relations. Thanks in large part to Bucky's experiences with Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos, those lessons had mostly to do with language choices, much to Tony's relief. He went over the rules of consent as well, while they were on the topic of women. Bucky was furiously indignant at first that Tony even brought it up ("What kind of goddamn heel d'ya take me for, anyway?") but had to admit when they were done that it was good information to have, since understanding had evolved over time.

That line of study wrapped up with an intensely awkward overview of sexual orientations and the ongoing struggle for equality on that front. Up to that point, Bucky had been a gratifyingly eager student, asking plenty of questions and talking through implications on his own, but when Tony finally wound down his rambling explanation of various orientations and the general state of legal rights and popular opinion, Bucky just grunted out a, "Huh," and then left for a walk.

He didn't come back to the cottage again until hours later, just as Tony was beginning to waffle between going out to look for him or just going to bed. Bucky just shrugged in response to Tony's attempts to talk, and eventually, Tony gave up. In silence, they both stripped down to their boxers and undershirts and climbed into their narrow beds. After Tony had turned off the lamp, though, and they'd begun to settle in for the night, Bucky said, "You really weren't kidding when you said it was okay to be queer in your time."

Ah, well, some things were easier said in the dark, Tony reflected. "I really wasn't. There are still a lot of people who don't like it, still a lot of political fluffery, but by and large, it's getting better." Tony hesitated, because Bucky had said he didn't care before, but there was not-caring, and then there was _not caring_ , and, well. "You going to be okay with that?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah, I just... It's a hell of a change. What'd Steve say, when he found out?"

"I don't know, I wasn't there. I think he got some kind of 'Welcome to the Future' sensitivity briefing from SHIELD." Bucky's acknowledging hum sounded disappointed. He was quiet for a while after that. Tony had grown used to the patterns of Bucky's breathing, or he might have thought Bucky had fallen asleep. Finally, he said, "Is anyone on the team--?"

"I am not outing anyone to you," Tony said firmly. "I can be an asshole, but I'm not a complete dick. _My_ sexuality is fairly fluid, so technically the answer to your question is 'yes', but I'm not running down anyone else's preferences."

"Guess that's fair. Asking around is rude? How do I know if it's okay to ask someone on a date?"

Tony laughed. "You ask them out, dummy. If they say no, then they're not interested, and it's not really any of your business whether it's because of your gender in general or you in specific. If they say yes, then maybe you'll get to a point where that information gets shared. Well, some people are easier about sharing than others; from ultra-classified to wearing it on their chests -- literally -- personal privacy runs the gamut. Like everything else humans do."

"Hm. Dating is complicated in the future."

"Maybe a little," Tony allowed. "Totally worth it, though."

"That's what they all say," Bucky said, and Tony could hear the smile in his voice.

***

Tony slipped out of the house as quietly as he could and walked down the lane away from the village, looking at the stars and listening to the soft noises of the countryside night that he'd finally begun to adjust to.

The device -- Tony had begun calling it the Folder in his thoughts -- was done, after more than a month's work. Come morning, he would prise the arc reactors out of the suit's various components and power the thing on, and... well.

Either the Folder would work, or it wouldn't. If it didn't, then Tony was probably stuck here. He wasn't thinking about that possibility, not yet.

If the Folder _did_ work, he had to hope the message would be clear enough, that it would get to Thor, that Thor would be able to get his hands on the Asgardian device and be able to use it. He had to hope he hadn't screwed up the timeline so badly that he didn't fit into the world any more.

There were a lot of ifs.

Tony had never let himself be particularly concerned about ifs and maybes. He wasn't concerned about this set, either.

But he sure did want morning to come a little sooner.

When he meandered his way back to the cottage, he found Bucky outside, leaning against the door and waiting for him. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Bucky shook his head. "Wasn't sleeping anyway. You okay?"

"Fine, just too keyed up to sleep. You nervous?"

"Little," Bucky admitted. "Excited, too. It's good."

"Yeah?" Tony examined Bucky's face in the starlight. He looked as much at ease as Tony had seen him yet. "Want to get started now, then?"

"Can we?"

"Sure," Tony said. "We're time travelers, we can do our thing whenever the hell we want."

***

The sun was up by the time Tony had finished fitting the miniaturized arc reactors into the Folder. The suit's individual components were no longer capable of coming when he called them, but, with luck, he wouldn't need them to.

Though Bucky's idea of a note had been inspired, there wasn't enough power to carry even a piece of paper through the Fold, but unless the timeline was drastically out of whack, there _would_ be a JARVIS on the other end. And a databurst had no weight at all.

He put the helmet on. "JARVIS, ready to transmit?"

"As ever, sir."

"Great. Bucky, got your stuff together?"

"Yep, what there is of it. You really think the door will open right away?"

"Absolutely," Tony said. "However long it takes them to get all their pieces together, the coordinates they'll be receiving are for right now. And we'll probably need to move fast when it's time."

"Right. I'm ready."

"All right then." Tony felt his face stretch into a manic grin, and he flipped the Folder's switch. The arc reactors lit up, and Tony looked at the Power Level dial. It was holding steady.

"Good start," Tony said, and reached for the dials and toggles. "JARVIS, keep an eye on the feedback loop and let me know when we're approaching resonance."

"Feedback loop is stabilized," JARVIS reported. "Resonance field anticipated at the 40% power mark."

The arc reactors brightened significantly. JARVIS flashed a warning and adjusted the polarization of the helmet's viewslits. "Bucky. Goggles."

"Way ahead of you," Bucky said. "Don't worry about me."

"I worry about everyone," Tony muttered. He turned the dial a little further. Forty percent. Forty-one. Forty-two.

"Resonance field established," JARVIS said. A blue-and-green false image filled the center of the HUD, a 3-D representation of the time and space inside the Folder, crackling with power.

"Data packet ready to transmit, J?"

"Of course, sir."

"Here goes nothing!" Tony pulled on the lever, wincing against the whine of protest as the arc reactors were cycled to their maximum output. Inside the helmet, the image of the field rippled, then buckled, and finally folded over on itself. One tiny red dot appeared, and a yellow one. Tony watched as the two dots slid closer and closer... "Now, J, _now_!"

"Data burst away, sir," JARVIS reported. "Secondary burst away."

One of the arc reactors crackled and hissed and then died in a hail of sparks. Tony threw back the lever before more of them could fail. They powered down, flickered back on, and then powered down again.

The room seemed dark in the sudden absence of the reactors' light. "Anything?" Tony asked. Bucky was standing perfectly still, his breath all but held.

"Sir, I am not detecting any resonance anomalies at present. I do, however, appear to have acquired a message for you that was not previously present."

"Play it. On speaker, let Bucky hear it, too."

" _Anthony, my friend!_ " Tony gasped a ragged breath of relief at the sound of Thor's voice. " _We have been most concerned for you in these last days, and are pleased at the proof in this message of your continued health. My lady and Doctor Banner are keen to discuss your methods, but allow me first to reassure you that we shall shortly be able to initiate your return. Due to the ever-fluctuating patterns of the forces upon which the device draws, the precise coordinates provided are unsuitable, but Jane anticipates we can narrow our mark to within the hour of your local time._ "

Tony flipped up his mask to grin at Bucky.

Bucky was smiling and looking just a little bit green.

"You okay?" Tony asked.

"I'm good, it's just." Bucky swallowed hard. "Less than an hour left."

"Alternatively," Tony suggested, "all the time in the world."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. He drew a breath, let it out, and looked around the room.

"You can still back out," Tony said. "I won't think any less of you."

"No," Bucky returned, immediately and firmly. He picked up the duffle bag that contained his clothes and the few odds and ends he had collected over their stay, and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm going. Stop trying to talk me out of it."

"I'm not trying to talk you out of it," Tony protested. "I'm just--"

"Sir," JARVIS cut in, "I am detecting a timefield fluctuation. You and Sergeant Barnes may wish to step to the far side of the room."

Bucky was already moving, his eyes wide as they flickered around the room. Tony joined him, the suit feeling heavy on his joints.

The portal, when it opened, was very nearly anticlimactic. The room was unchanged, and then, on an instant, there was a hole in the middle of the air and Thor was standing on the other side of it, frowning as he fiddled with a device that looked like the one Stalker-chick's friend had been using.

Thor looked up and beamed. "Anthony! You are well, my friend?"

"As well as can be expected," Tony allowed. "Ready for us to come through?"

Thor's eyebrows rose. "Us?"

"Yeah, I'm bringing a--" Tony glanced at Bucky only to discover that the air beside him was empty again. "What the--" He turned, and found that Bucky had edged entirely behind him. "What are you doing? Come on out, it's time to go, if you're going."

"Going," Bucky breathed. He was pale, but his jaw was set. "I'm going. I was just startled."

"Uh-huh, okay."

"Anthony," Thor said, "if you wish to cross the portal, now is the time."

"We're coming," Tony said. He held out a hand to Bucky. "Come on, we'll go through together. Piece of cake."

"Piece of cake, sure." Bucky grabbed Tony's wrist, and Tony curled his fingers around Bucky's. He couldn't feel the pressure of Bucky's hand through the armor of the gauntlet, but Bucky's knuckles were white.

They approached the portal, and Thor stepped aside, smiling encouragingly. Tony flashed an encouraging grin at Bucky, and then they stepped through.

Tony couldn't help but observe that the pain was just as bad going the other direction.

Maybe a little worse.

And then, mercifully, he blacked out.


	11. The Winter Soldier

He wasn't in the armor when he woke. He was lying on some kind of cot or bed, which was a nice change from the last time. And there were voices nearby, low murmurs that Tony couldn't quite make out.

He opened his eyes and turned his head. He was in a small, depressingly sterile room that he recognized immediately as belonging to the medical floor of Avengers Tower. There was another cot on the other side of the room; sitting on it, heads close together, were Bucky and Steve. Tony's heart lurched and then skipped.

Home. He'd made it home. And Bucky had made it through with him. It was done. He could have cried with relief.

"Hey," he said, and sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows. Steve and Bucky both immediately stopped talking and looked at him. "How long was I out?"

A question like "how long" actually made sense again. He suppressed the urge to giggle hysterically.

Steve's face was bright and gloriously happy. He crossed the room in two long strides and pulled Tony into a warm hug. "Thank you," he breathed. "Tony, you can't know, I can't ever say enough... just, _thank you_."

Tony's heart stuttered. Steve was not touch-shy -- he had clapped Tony's back or shoulder in congratulations of a well-executed plan, or taken Tony's arm to pull him from his workshop when Tony had forgotten to sleep, and had never hesitated to sling an arm around Tony's neck or waist when Tony carried him as Iron Man. But if asked, Tony wouldn't have said Steve was _affectionate_. Flight-carry styles aside, Steve was not given to cuddling.

The last time Steve had hugged Tony like this was after a battle in which Tony had gotten knocked into the bay and lost both his flight system and his comms, and the team had thought he'd drowned. And when Steve had released _that_ relieved embrace, he'd proceeded to tear Tony a new one about ill-advised approach paths and waiting on threat analysis before attacking.

So unless Tony was very much mistaken, bringing Bucky home may have just earned Tony every possible brownie point ever with Steve. Tony returned the hug a bit awkwardly, patting Steve's shoulder soothingly. "I can probably guess, a little," he said. "I-- did he tell you? We, I, we tried to tell you, back then. I sent a telegram--"

"He told me," Steve said against Tony's neck. "I never got it. Don't know why. Maybe it got mixed in with some fan mail or something; I didn't look at any of that stuff after... Well, after. Thank you for trying, though. And this, God, Tony. I know you didn't do it for me," Steve said quickly, shaking his head without lifting it from Tony's shoulder. "But I'm still grateful. _God_ , just knowing he survived..."

Tony looked across Steve's shoulder to Bucky. Bucky just smiled a little and shrugged; no doubt his own reunion with Steve had been even more emotional.

Tony patted Steve's shoulder again. "Come on, big guy, I've been out of touch and I need the sitrep. How long was I gone, and how long have I been out?"

Steve released Tony and sat back on his heels, wiping at unabashedly damp eyes. "Sorry, right. Yeah." He focused his eyes on a spot just past Tony's shoulder as he sketched out the events. "You were, uh, gone for a little more than two weeks. We knew... Thor recognized the device, so we knew you weren't dead, but we had no real way of determining exactly when and where you were. We -- well, mostly Bruce and Jane -- were trying to figure out a way to work it out when JARVIS told us that there was a message from you on the server. You were back here in the tower about six hours after that. And you've been out for about an hour."

"All right. Why are we in medical?" Tony squinted at Bucky. "Did _you_ pass out?"

Bucky grinned and shook his head. "Nope. Thanks, by the way, for abandoning me to the mercy of your terrifying and suspicious friends before we even got all the way through the dumb door."

"Bucky," Steve sighed, but it was too fond to actually be chiding. Steve returned to the cot and sat next to Bucky while Tony pulled himself the rest of the way upright. "Don't listen to this jerk," Steve told Tony. "I was right there, so it's not like it took us any time to figure out who he was. And you're in medical because you _passed out_ , Tony. Pay attention."

"Okay, but why is he here, then?"

"He wanted to be on hand when you--"

"I wouldn't leave," Bucky interrupted shortly. "We talked about the risks, remember? I didn't want you to wake up and think I'd been left behind, or worse."

"Oh." Tony met Bucky's still-worried eyes. "Thank you." Bucky smiled, and Steve watched both of them (mostly Bucky) with a warm glow.

Tony drew a deep breath. "So," he said cautiously. "Just how badly did I fuck up the timeline?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know."

"Steve. I was in the past for a month and a half, and every single thing I touched or interacted with must have spun off a dozen minor threads of probability. The odds are good that some of them would have had major blooms. Hell, the things I screwed up just by saving _Bucky_... I'm not sorry I did it; I just want to know how bad--"

"Tony," Steve interrupted. "I don't know. I can't. Whatever you changed _was changed_. I can't remember something that's never happened."

Tony frowned. He looked at Bucky, who didn't seem bothered, and then back at Steve. "I can remember at least one major... thing," Tony said carefully, thinking of the Winter Soldier, "that must have changed. Why can I remember it, if you can't?"

"Thor said there would be a residual... something-or-other," Steve said, with a wry shrug in apology for the vague terminology.

"That's the other reason we're in medical," Bucky put in. "He said when it started to wear off, you might not feel so good."

"Oh," Tony said, parsing that. "Great, I probably haven't had enough pain yet today. Did he say when that was likely to happen?"

"No way to be sure, but within the next couple of hours, probably," Steve supplied.

"Super." Tony sighed, and was about to say something else when the door opened and Clint came in.

He had a bandage around his head and another on his arm, but he crossed the room directly and took Tony's hand in a firm clasp. "It's good to have you back, man," he said.

"Thanks," Tony said. He wondered if Clint seemed any different, and then he wondered if he was going to keep wondering that until his memory caught up with him.

Clint had already turned to Steve. "Winter Soldier's been sighted," he said in a calm voice that belied the tightness underneath.

Steve sighed and heaved himself to his feet.

"Wait, the _Winter Soldier_?" Tony demanded. "How is that-- I mean..."

Steve quirked an eyebrow. "Tony, we've been dealing with the Winter Soldier for _months_ now, ever since the whole Hydra/SHIELD debacle. That's... You _do_ remember that, right?" He looked distinctly worried.

"Yeah." Tony nodded impatiently, and Steve relaxed slightly. "But--"

"One of these days," Clint sighed, "she's going to slow down enough on one of these drive-bys for us to catch her."

_She?_ Tony clicked his teeth shut so hard his jaw ached.

"Tony, you stay here," Steve said firmly. "You're still recovering. Bucky--"

"I'll stay with him," Bucky said easily.

Steve nodded, and then he and Clint were both gone.

Tony pressed the bridge of his nose. "JARVIS?"

"Glad to see you up and about, sir," JARVIS said easily.

"Well, up, anyway." Tony rubbed his eyes and then looked at the wall. "Do we have some footage of the Winter Soldier, please?"

"Of course, sir." Several images floated up to rest in the air in front of Tony, depicting a woman dressed all in black fighting Steve and the other Avengers. Aside from the fact that she was female, she actually looked startlingly like the Winter Soldier that Tony could remember. Her hair was dark brown and ragged, and her left arm had been replaced with a silvery prosthetic, and she moved like an emotionless automaton of death.

_Unlike_ the Winter Soldier that Tony remembered, this version of the Winter Soldier did not seem to have any compunction at all about attacking Steve. She seemed quite intent on it, in fact.

Bucky's eyes were wide, and he began to curse, softly and vehemently.

"Hey, Buck, relax," Tony said. "We talked about movies and graphics displays and stuff, right? This is just--"

Pale as a ghost, Bucky leaned forward to brush his fingers through an image of the Winter Soldier, unmasked, her dark eyes murderous.

"Tony," Bucky whispered. "That's..."

Oh, Christ. Tony was not going to like this. He was not going to like this _at all_.

Bucky tried once more to touch the hologram, and accidentally succeeded in making it grow until the image was nearly life-sized, hovering between them in the too-quiet room.

"That's... Peggy Carter."

Tony really, _really_ hated being right sometimes.

[](http://zombieonavespa.tumblr.com/post/99420025185/what-if-it-hadnt-been-bucky-barnes-what-if-it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our glorious Winter Soldier art is from the amazing [zombieonavespa](http://zombieonavespa.tumblr.com/), who also inspired the idea in the first place. (Seriously, I've been waiting to unveil this art on you guys since the first chapter went up, you have _no idea_ how delighted I am to finally post this!)


	12. PART TWO

**PART TWO: THE NEW NOW**

 

The room was full of floating pictures made of light and color, and that was not even the strangest thing to have happened to Bucky Barnes in the last month or so.

The floating pictures -- some of them were even in motion, like tiny little movies -- showed a woman in the midst of battle. Her hair was cut oddly and she wasn't dressed like any dame Bucky had ever known, but Tony had explained some of the changes in fashion to Bucky a couple of weeks ago. Bucky had thought Tony was making stuff up to pull his leg, but, well, maybe not.

Her clothes aside, this woman was flat-out _terrifying_. Not in the way that Bucky joked that his Ma was scary when she'd found out he and Steve had gone out drinking right after Steve had just recovered from another one of his bouts of near-pneumonia. No, this woman was soldier-serious, gut-level, make-peace-with-your-Maker _deadly_. There was an economy and precision to her movement that made Bucky think of machines and stalking predators. There wasn't an ounce of fear in her, nor anger, nor bloodthirstiness, nor even grim determination, and Bucky didn't think he'd ever seen a soldier in a firefight who hadn't mustered up at least one of those things. And Bucky had seen a hell of a lot of firefights in the last few years.

Bucky found himself drawn to one picture in particular, where he could almost make out the details of her face. Without thinking, he tried to pick it up and bring it closer, like a photograph, but of course his fingers passed right through the light. There was something about her face, the set of her mouth, maybe-- Bucky felt his eyes go wide, and a curse slipped from his lips.

Tony was talking, but Bucky couldn't really hear him. _He knew that face_. Didn't he? He tried to imagine the flat, stringy hair curled up on her head and pinned under a cap, envisioned those resolute lips covered in brilliant red paint. His hand lifted, and he didn't mean to touch the picture this time, just to cover the distracting shape of her hair, but suddenly the picture _grew_ , and then grew again, until this implacable, terrifying woman -- this _Winter Soldier_ \-- was life-sized, nearly Bucky's height, for all that Bucky could see Tony right through the image.

And now there was no doubt, none at all. "That's... Peggy Carter," Bucky whispered.

Across from him, Tony turned white as a sheet, and sat down hard on his cot. "No," he rasped. "No, no, no--"

"Tony?"

"--no, no no no nononono--"

Goddamn bad time for the man to succumb to shell shock, Bucky thought. He stepped right through the glowing pictures, grabbed Tony's shoulder, and shook him sharply. "Pull yourself together," he snapped in his best battlefield Sarge voice.

Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn't, but they were both confined to this room for now, so Bucky's options were limited.

Tony stopped repeating himself, at least, his lips pressing tightly. He was still pale and his breathing was a bit fast, but his eyes were a little less glassy than they had been, even if they were fixed over Bucky's shoulder on the glowing images there.

"How d'you make the pictures go away?" Bucky asked.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the pictures disappeared. Well, okay then. That's right, JARVIS wasn't just in the suit here. Tony had told him about that, and Bucky should've remembered. This was going to take some getting used to.

Tony was starting to rock back and forth, dropping back into shock. Bucky drew a steadying breath for himself and got right up close so Tony had no choice but to look at him. "Tony, hey." He shook Tony's shoulder again, a little more lightly. "You mean to tell me you got lost in time, rescued my broken ass, killed half a dozen Hydra agents, built a rig to get yourself _unlost_ in time, and _this_ is gonna be the thing that tips you over the edge?"

Not that Bucky wasn't flirting with a little panic, himself. Peggy Goddamn Carter. What was she doing here -- and _now_? She didn't look that much older than she'd been in Bucky's own day -- ten years, tops. And the Peggy Carter that Bucky had known had been a formidable soldier, dame or no -- but not _nearly_ so deadly as this Winter Soldier.

He pushed the thought aside. He had to get Tony back on an even keel, first. "Come on, Tony, pull yourself together and at tell me what's got you so rattled."

Tony's eyes snapped up to Bucky's, and they were so haunted and full of pain that Bucky nearly recoiled. "It wasn't supposed to be her," Tony breathed. "There. There was a Winter Soldier, before, but it was... I thought I'd made it so that... _Stupid_ ," he cursed himself, his eyes dragging away to flicker around the room without really seeing it, the way he did whenever he was thinking hard. "They had the tools and the capability already at hand, didn't they? It didn't matter to them who the victim was. There was always going to be a Winter Soldier."

Bucky couldn't follow too much of that, but it was a good sign that Tony was thinking again, so he tucked it away to chew on later.

"God, what are the odds?" Tony wondered aloud. "What are the _odds_ that the Winter Soldier would be another-- _aaah_!"

Bucky startled, then grabbed Tony's shoulders as he started to fold over on himself, keening in anguish. "Tony! Tony, what is it?"

Tony just shook his head. He screamed again, and then his jaw clenched tightly around his pain. A whimpering moan leaked steadily from between his teeth, unceasing, rising and falling with each breath. Tony's hands grabbed at Bucky's shirt, fisting in the cloth until Bucky thought it would tear.

Bucky curled his hand around the back of Tony's neck and pulled gently, and Tony didn't even seem aware of the motion, just fell forward until to lean against Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky didn't know exactly what was causing this pain, but he knew pain intimately, from inside and out. He'd been a sergeant for nearly a year even before Steve had joined him on the battlefield, after all; he'd braced his men for the field medics, had a couple of bullets dug out of his own skin, and held more soldiers' hands than he cared to think about as they'd died. Bucky kept his hand on Tony's neck, his presence the only comfort he could offer now. He knew it wasn't enough, but he recalled Tony's brusque insistence on sharing quarters in the cottage in France for the sake of their sleep, and figured Tony would know enough to forgive him for that.

"Breathe through it, Tony, c'mon," he murmured in Tony's ear, just louder than the steady groan forcing its way out of Tony's throat. "Whatever it is, we'll get you fixed up as soon as Steve gets back."

Tony shook his head and whimpered, then gritted out, "T-time's broken, I can't-- Can't remember two things, it hurts, it--"

 _This_ was the timestream correction Thor had been talking about when he'd suggested Tony remain here in medical? Thor had only said it would be _uncomfortable_. Jesus wept. Bucky wondered what the hell Thor would call "painful," and then decided he probably didn't want to know. He squeezed the back of Tony's neck. "I know," he said, though obviously he _didn't_ ; Bucky's timestream was just _fine_. "It's okay, just let it go and breathe." Bucky wracked his brain, trying to remember if Thor had said how long it would take, once it hit.

Not terribly long, as it turned out. Tony only screamed once more after that, though he panted out a soft whine with each breath for another several minutes. Even after he fell silent, Bucky could still feel Tony's breath coming fast and ragged, and he didn't even try to lift his head from Bucky's shoulder or unclench his fists.

Bucky dragged his thumb down the bowstring-tight tendons in Tony's neck, mumbling nonsense and encouragement just to give Tony something to home in on. Finally, Tony sagged and went boneless. Bucky pulled away just enough to look, and yep -- Tony had passed out.

Probably for the best. It was awkward, with only one arm, but Bucky managed to get Tony laid back on the cot and pulled a blanket up over him. Hopefully the pain would be gone when he woke.

Bucky flopped back onto the other cot and dragged his sleeve across his face. He was glad that he'd insisted on staying; he didn't like to think of anyone going through that sort of pain alone. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have his memories rewritten or even erased wholesale amidst electrifying pain, and shivered in visceral reaction.

Bucky wondered if Tony would remember the pain when he woke up, and hoped not.

Then he wondered how long Tony would sleep, and how long it would be before Steve came back. Or anyone, really. It was probably only a few hours since he and Tony had knocked back their morning coffee and started in on the Folder, but it felt like it had been days.

Bucky wondered if he could get those pictures back. He shoved his hand through his hair, feeling stupid, but there was no one here to witness if it was as dumb a notion as his gut was telling him it was. "Uh. Hello? Can I see those Winter Soldier pictures again?"

Bucky just about jumped right out of his own skin when the pictures appeared again, just like that, color and light floating in the middle of the room, exactly as they'd been before Tony had started that weird panic attack. He swallowed and looked at the drawings, carefully not touching.

Light and color, damn near lifesize. It beat the hell out of grainy newspaper print, Bucky had to admit. He grinned a little. The future was pretty cool, so far, better than any dimestore novel had made it out to be.

His smile faded, however, as he studied the images of the Winter Soldier. Peggy Carter. Shit. _Shit_. Why hadn't Tony warned him about this when he was filling Bucky in on the future? No, wait, that was why Tony had panicked, wasn't it? Tony had said the Winter Soldier had been someone else. So who had Tony thought it--

Oh. _Oh_.

 _You were captured by Hydra. Brainwashed._ At the time, Tony's voice had only registered dimly through the screaming pain of Bucky's shattered leg and missing arm, but the echo now threatened to consume Bucky's brain.

_It wasn't supposed to be her._

_You were captured_.

 _Brainwashed_.

_There was a Winter Soldier, before, but it was..._

Bucky.

The Winter Soldier had been -- was supposed to be -- _Bucky_.

Oh, _God_.


	13. Team Meeting

Bucky was still staring in shock at the images of the Winter Soldier, not really seeing them any more, when Steve came back. "Hey, Buck, sorry that-- oh."

Steve sat heavily next to Bucky, his eyes on the image floating in the air. He smelled of fresh air and metal. "So you know."

Bucky tried to shake off the horrified numbness, to pay attention to Steve. "You get hurt?"

"What? No. She grazed me, but Tony made this suit; the bullet didn't get through. I just have a bruise. She never sticks around long, especially if Clint's on the scene. He almost managed to pin her down once, so now as soon as she spots him, she's gone." Steve's eyes were fixed on the floating images, and his face was frozen in a neutral expression.

"Does she... know you?" _Did I know you?_

Steve was quiet for a long moment, and Bucky thought at first that he might not even answer. Then he waved a hand, somehow making the pictures disappear, and said, "A little, maybe, but not really. Sometimes... Sometimes there's a-- a flicker, but it never lasts long. She hasn't actually spoken to me since the first time we fought."

Bucky's gut churned. "Christ, Stevie." That might have been _him_ , trying to kill his best friend and not even knowing it. He tried to envision a world in which he wouldn't know Steve, but his imagination failed.

Steve pressed his lips together stubbornly. "Nat says she's not trying nearly as hard as she could to kill me. That there might still be hope, if we can manage to catch her." He jerked his chin at Tony, silent and still on his cot. "He didn't tell you about any of this?"

"No." _He didn't tell me because he'd_ saved _me. He thought he'd made it so the Winter Soldier wouldn't even exist._ Bucky almost said it aloud, wanting, wanting desperately to share the burden of that knowledge -- and then closed his teeth on it, clamping down hard. However heavy that burden was, he couldn't ask Steve to carry it. Steve had already been forced to mourn him once. Sharing this knowledge with Steve would double its weight, not halve it.

Well, Bucky had plenty of practice at lying to protect Steve. Bucky swallowed back the truth, bitter as headache powder, and pasted on a smirk instead. "Tony? He's been hanging around you; he probably figured if I knew, I'd go and do something stupid."

Bucky had been hoping for a laugh, but he'd settle for that flutter of a smile. "Tony's a pretty smart guy," Steve drawled.

He bumped his shoulder into Steve's. "Punk." Christ, but Bucky had missed this. And how much worse must it have been for Steve, who'd spent his last -- how long? four years? five? -- thinking Bucky was dead?

Steve bumped him back, but didn't pull away, just leaned into Bucky's side like he was still a 98-pound weakling with a bad heart who needed Bucky to prop him up while he tried to force air into lungs that'd gone on strike. Bucky couldn't object to the contact, not with the murderous glare of the Winter Soldier still floating behind his eyes.

"Here in the twenty-first century," Steve said solemnly, "we mostly say _asshole_ or _bastard_."

Bucky could and did curse with the best of them -- better than Steve did, truth be told -- but that was in the field or around guys Bucky knew. Steve was obviously trying to trap him into saying something offensive or blue right in front of Steve's new team, just to embarrass him. Bucky snorted. "I ain't falling for your tricks today, Rogers."

Steve was smiling now; Bucky could hear it in his voice. "Really not kidding. People today curse like they were born on a battlefield. People say shit and fuck and cock--"

Bucky sucked air. "Jesus, the _mouth_ on you."

"--and tits and ass and everything, right out in public in front of everyone. Women talk that way, too, and kids, and most folk don't even notice. To heck with the tech and the politics, I think that's the thing that took me the longest to really wrap my head around."

"Tony did fill me in on some of that stuff," Bucky said. "While we were building his contraption."

"That's good," Steve said, "but take it all with a pinch of salt, 'cause Tony's not exactly a regular guy on the street, you know? Sometimes he sees things... oddly."

"Right, 'cause _you're_ a regular guy on the street these days, with your dimestore muscles and your chorus-girl outfit?"

Steve shoved him, and they both laughed a little. It felt so much like coming home that Bucky had to close his eyes. _God. If Tony hadn't found me..._ Bucky suppressed the thought. Tony _had_ found him, and Steve was leaning warm against his side.

"Who's watching us now?" he asked, looking at Steve sideways.

"No one. Well, just JARVIS, but JARVIS doesn't tell tales out of school."

"So how come you haven't kissed me yet?" Bucky asked lightly. God, the way Bucky's heart had skipped when Tony had told him there wasn't any need to hide…

A blush started to spread up from Steve's collar. "Good question," he murmured, and then he was turning toward Bucky, his hands cradling Bucky's face, Steve's tongue sliding between Bucky's lips.

Bucky slid his arm up around Steve's shoulder, pulled Steve closer, made himself ignore the way his stump ached when it strained to do the same on the other side.

When they finally broke, it was only barely, foreheads leaning together and panting breath into each other's mouths. "God," Steve sighed. "Five _years_ , Buck."

Bucky's chest suddenly ached with a new, terrible realization. "Shit," he breathed. "Shit, Steve, I didn't think. I've been... you thought I was _dead_ , didn't you? Did you, I mean, is there someone--"

"No," Steve said quickly. "I mean..." He bit his lip, because he was a terrible liar. "There is, kinda, someone. But I hadn't actually said anything. Yet." He grimaced, met Bucky's gaze with the mournful sincerity of a puppy. "Don't be sore, Buck."

Bucky sighed and dropped his head down to Steve's shoulder so he wouldn't have to look at those eyes any longer, tried to make himself see reason. It'd been way more than a couple of months for Steve. "Gotta admit it hurts," he said, knowing he couldn't entirely hide his reaction, "but you were bound to replace me eventually." He tried, he _tried_ to keep the hurt and bitterness out of his tone.

He didn't think he was entirely successful. Steve's hand curled around his neck, fingers idly stroking the hair there, already growing out from its military-short cut. "It was never about replacing you," Steve whispered. "I couldn't, not ever. I love you. That's never going to change, Bucky, not if I live to be a thousand years old."

Bucky grunted. "But you... love someone else now, too."

Steve hesitated. "Yeah. Yes. I guess so."

"Like you loved Peggy?" Peggy had been something of a sore spot between them, and despite his guilt for her current predicament, Bucky wasn't above using that.

But Steve was shaking his head. "It's hard to compare. Peggy knew how I felt about her, but I had to lie to her about _you_ , and… I don't know, Buck. I'm sorry to put you through this again."

Bucky had known -- though he'd never wanted to acknowledge -- that Steve was going to leave him for Peggy, after the war. That whatever Steve believed about the depth of his feelings for Bucky, he was going to eventually cave to the pressure to have a _normal_ life. He lifted his head and looked at Steve seriously. "I'm going to fight for you this time," he warned. "Fellas can be together now, Tony told me that."

Steve startled, and he glanced across the room at Tony's unmoving form, his faint blush climbing higher. "Why would he--? Did you tell him? About us, I mean?"

"Of course not!" Bucky said. "Christ, I'm not _stupid_. He brought it up himself. And he wouldn't even tell me whether he knew about you being queer, so stop looking so gobsmacked and worried. Tony's got your back, just like me."

Steve smiled weakly. "Yeah? Okay. I just… Okay."

" _Does_ he know?" Bucky asked.

Steve looked away uncomfortably, shrugging. "I don't think so. I haven't told anyone on the team. Some of 'em might have guessed, but no one's said anything."

"So I shouldn't stake my claim by up and kissing you in front of God and everyone?" Bucky asked, and grinned as Steve's blush flared from pink to bright red.

"Jesus, Bucky. No."

"Okay, okay, no need to be so tight-laced," Bucky said, laughing. "Just be prepared, Stevie. I made a Stark drag me through seventy years to get back to you; I ain't lettin' go so easy this time."

Steve smiled at that and kissed Bucky again, soft and quick. "Don't want you to," he promised, then straightened and stood. "Come on. Come meet everyone."

***

Steve led Bucky into a room that seemed full to the brim with people. And despite it looking like nothing Bucky had ever seen, despite the glass and metal and razor-sharp lines and strange clothes, it also somehow looked exactly like the smoke and wood and olive drab of the Howling Commandos camped out in a bar, on leave after a raid. Everyone was talking as they tended to wounds or nursed a drink or cleaned a weapon. Their bodies were all loose and relaxed, the way you only saw with a squad who'd been together a good while, everyone trusting everyone else at their backs. Something tight in Bucky's stomach eased a little when he saw it: however strange they'd sounded from Tony's descriptions, these people were a team, and Steve hadn't been alone.

The few nearest the door looked up as Steve and Bucky came in, and pretty quick, they were all looking at him. Bucky's spine straightened instinctively.

It was Thor that broke the momentary hush. "Well met," he called from his place by the window. He strode toward them, and Bucky was hard-pressed not to take a defensive step back. Thor was _huge_ , and somehow Bucky had forgotten just _how_ huge in the couple of hours since they'd parted ways. "I hope it is for fair news that you have broken your vigil at our friend Anthony's side?"

_Vigil_ , for Christ's sake, like it was some sort of Arthurian romance. But Steve had turned to look at Bucky encouragingly, so he said, "I guess so. He had a pretty bad patch for a bit, while you all were off dealing with the, uh, visitor, which I reckon was the time thing you mentioned. He's sleeping it off now."

Thor nodded solemnly. "Meddling with time is not an occupation lacking in hazard," he pronounced. "Even those of such stout constitution as my own have been slain by the backlash of too-ambitious alteration."

Cold terror washed through Bucky and he clenched his jaw and fist against a sudden need to turn around and run back to reassure himself that Tony was still breathing. He wasn't the only one, either; Steve's face had drained of color. " _Slain_?" Steve demanded. "Thor, you told us he'd find it _uncomfortable_."

Thor looked a little surprised. "Anthony's journey was not so distant that he should have been in danger of his life," he said. "Though it is true that I know of no other Midgardians against whom to gauge his reaction. It may be that I misjudged. If I have caused offense, Steven, I of course cry your pardon."

"No," Steve said, after a barely-noticeable pause. "No, you were doing the best you could for us, as always. Sorry."

Bucky, having been there to witness Tony's pain, wasn't sure he felt so charitable about it. But it'd be a dumb move to piss off Steve's team before they'd even been properly introduced, so Bucky kept his irritation behind his teeth, chewed it up and spat it out into something like a smile.

The smile came a bit easier when Steve pulled Bucky back under his arm. "You all know who this is," he said, raising his voice just slightly, beaming proudly. "But let's make it official. Everyone, meet Bucky Barnes, my right-hand man and my first, best friend."

Bucky felt himself flush a little at the description, and gave a quick, embarrassed shrug before raising his hand in a quick wave.

Steve started pointing out the others. "You already know Thor, of course, and Bruce. Right next to Bruce there is Jane Foster. Bruce and Jane are our chief scientists. Along with Tony, of course, but Tony's more about making new things than investigating what's already there."

Bucky nodded to Banner, whom he'd met briefly when they'd brought Tony in to medical, and then again to the small, sharp-eyed woman beside Bruce. "Doc. Ma'am."

"It's good to meet you," Foster said politely, though her eyes were lit with a thousand questions.

"Sergeant," Banner returned his greeting.

Bucky tried not to let his smile grow strained. "Pretty sure I'm just a Mister, now."

Banner didn't seem offended. "Whatever's your preference," he agreed.

Steve tugged Bucky over to the slender redhead. "This is Natasha Romanov, code name Black Widow."

Bucky offered his hand. Tony had used a lot of words to describe the Black Widow, and most of them had summed up as "terrifying" and "deadly". So Bucky was very careful to keep his eyes above her neck, and as she took his hand she smiled, slow and amused, as if she knew that he was having to work at it. "It's good to meet you," she said. "Steve's told us a lot about you."

"I'm guessing one of the things he told you was that I'm dead," Bucky said, "and that was completely wrong. So you probably don't wanna believe too much of the other stuff, either." Steve's hand on his shoulder twitched, and Bucky smiled a little wider.

Romanov chuckled a little and then she gave Steve a look that Bucky couldn't quite decipher. "Well then," she said, squeezing his hand again before releasing him, "I'll look forward to learning more about you, then, without Steve's rose-colored glasses."

Bucky glanced at Steve suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean, Rogers?"

Steve blushed a little, but his voice was steady. "Wasn't going to speak ill of the dead, was I? This is Sam Wilson, goes by Falcon."

"You're the guy with the wings?" Bucky said, taking the hand that Wilson had already offered.

"That's me. Tony give you the dish on everyone already?" Sam's grip was relaxed and comfortable.

"Yeah," Bucky confirmed. "He wants to rebuild your wings in the worst way, did you know?"

Sam laughed. "Oh, yeah, I know. He won't shut up about it."

"Don't you trust him to do the job?" Bucky had trouble imagining that anyone might not trust Tony's genius 

"It's a machine, he's _Tony Stark_ ," Sam said, brushing the guess aside. "Of course I'd trust him. At this point, I'm just holding out because it's fun to watch him whine about it."

Bucky was startled into a real laugh, and Sam smirked mischievously. Bucky looked at Steve. "Your kinda guy," he said.

"Sam's good people," Steve confirmed, fighting a losing battle with a grin. Bucky wondered briefly if Sam was Steve's new crush, but Steve was already pulling him to the next person. "Here, this is Clint Barton. Hawkeye."

Barton was the guy who'd come down to medbay earlier to fetch Steve. "You're a sniper, right?" Barton asked.

"Was," Bucky corrected. "Need two hands for a long rifle."

Barton grinned. "We'll find you something you can work with."

"Clint," Steve warned.

Barton ignored him, which as far as Bucky was concerned, was good sense. "I've got some ideas, and we haven't even asked Tony yet."

"Clint," Steve said again. "Bucky might want to be done with all that."

Barton snorted and turned his pale eyes to Steve. "The man's backed you in every fight you've picked since you were what, eight years old? What makes you think he's going to give it up now?"

"I'm just saying--"

Bucky elbowed Steve. "At least let me make my own choice," he said sharply.

Steve actually backed up a step, his eyes suddenly haunted, and held up both hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."

Bucky had never won an argument with Steve so easily in all his life. It was unsettling. He looked back to Barton and said, "We'll talk about it later, yeah?" and then leaned back into Steve's space. Steve's hand dropped back on his shoulder, and Bucky tried not to feel too relieved.

"And last but certainly not least," Steve said, "Colonel Rhodes."

Rhodes was the most unassuming man in the room. He was tall but not towering, fit but not particularly muscular, and despite the rank Steve had given, wearing nothing that resembled a uniform or any kind of combat gear. Rhodes shot Steve a flat, unimpressed look. "You didn't give anyone else's title," he pointed out.

"Can't help it, sir," Steve said, in what Bucky recognized immediately as his teasing, starting-shit-for-the-fun-of-it tone. "You outrank me, after all." He paused. "Flyboy."

"If you think I'm taking another salute from you," Rhodes shot back, "you've got another think coming." He offered Bucky a hand. "Call me Jim," he said pointedly. "You probably already know better than to pay attention to anything this _grunt_ says."

Bucky grinned wide. Service branch trash talk was, apparently, something that would never go out of style. "Of course."

"I'm not really one of these guys," Rhodes continued. "I've just been filling in while Tony was... away." For a moment, his eyes showed strain, and Bucky remembered that this was Tony's oldest friend, and that they had spent most of the last two weeks not knowing where he was or whether he was even alive.

"He made sure to include you when he was telling me about the team," Bucky offered. "I think he'll be grateful to know you were keeping an eye on things for him."

"He'd better be," Rhodes said, but he smiled as he said it. "The asshole."

Bucky blinked and Steve snickered. "Told ya."

"Yeah, yeah. That everyone?"

Steve scanned the room quickly, as if making sure no one else had appeared out of thin air. Bucky wondered if maybe that was something that happened sometimes around here. "Yep, that's it," Steve said. "I called Pepper when we got Tony back, but she's been in California, so she won't get here until tomorrow."

Everyone else had gone back to whatever tasks and conversations they had been doing when Bucky and Steve arrived. Barton and Romanov were disassembling and cleaning guns while talking in a language Bucky couldn't quite place. Thor and Rhodes and Wilson were at the window, watching the sun set and the lights of the city come alive. Banner and Foster were sitting to one side of the couch, comparing notes on some device.

"Come on," Steve said. "Let's get some dinner, and then I'll show you your room."

"I've got a room?"

Steve laughed. "Welcome to Stark Tower."


	14. Room and Board

Bucky had more than a room, he had a whole damned _apartment_. It was almost as big as the cottage he and Tony had shared in France. Steve just shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "Mine is pretty much the same, just decorated different. It took me a while to get used to it, too. I don't think Tony knows _how_ to do anything small or quiet. Once you're settled a little, we can shop for some decorations for your place, too."

Bucky stared. "Shop for-- I don't have any--" Bucky swallowed all his jumbled thoughts and tried again. "Am I moving in here for good?"

Steve froze, and Bucky didn't like his expression of pained uncertainty. "I... assumed you would. You don't have to, of course. But this is where most of the team lives. Including me." Steve's head cocked. "And Tony, of course."

As if Tony might be the deciding factor? "Of course I'm staying with you," Bucky said quickly. "I just thought... Hell, I haven't had so much as a room to myself since... pretty much ever. I guess I thought I'd be bunking with you." He winced inwardly, because Steve was the field commander. Of course he didn't have to share quarters. "Or, y'know, in team quarters or whatever. Like it was with the Commandos."

Steve grinned and relaxed. "This _is_ team quarters, Buck, I swear. Everyone's got their own place. Hell, Bruce has a whole floor to himself."

"Yeah?" Bucky thought about the unsettling quiet of his one night alone in the French cottage and bit his lip. _Tons of people sleep alone,_ he reminded himself sharply. _Don't be such a damn baby._ "Yeah, okay," he said. "Just takes some getting used to. Guess I didn't really think that far ahead. I just wanted to be back with you."

Steve pulled him into a hug, warm and tight and lingering, until Bucky's chest ached with the tears he refused to shed. "I'm glad you did, Buck," Steve whispered. "I missed you."

"Me too, Stevie," Bucky breathed.

"Captain Rogers," JARVIS said. Was it Bucky's imagination, or did it actually sound apologetic? "I'm afraid I must recall you to a previous appointment in meeting room 12."

Steve sighed. "That interview? Can I reschedule?"

"You have already rescheduled twice, Captain; I fear a third time might leave the reporter with the wrong impression."

"Or the right one," Steve muttered. He let go of Bucky and stepped back, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. "This one might take a while. Sorry, it's just--"

"It's okay," Bucky said. "I'll look around the place, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Bucky pushed his fingers into Steve's hair and pulled him in for a lingering kiss. "Go," he said when they finally broke apart again. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Steve hesitated, then kissed Bucky again -- this time with a hint of promise -- and said. "I'll be back later," he said. "As soon as I can."

Bucky grinned. "Good."

Steve returned Bucky's smile, a hint foolishly, then left.

Bucky spent a half-hour or so exploring the apartment. Its general outlines were familiar -- living space, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom -- but everything was bigger than anything Bucky had seen outside of maybe a movie screen, and there were tons of buttons and gadgets that he was afraid to touch, even in the bathroom.

But when that was done, Bucky found himself at a loss. It was even worse than those first days in the cottage, when Tony was wearing that strange helmet all the time and muttering math -- at least Tony had been _present_ , if not quite all there, a physical connection to the world who could confirm Bucky's continued existence.

Sitting here, in this impossibly posh apartment in this impossibly tall building in this impossibly bright evening in New York, made Bucky wonder if he hadn't, after all, been captured or killed, and was dandling out the last of his life and sanity in some hallucination of comfort, the promise of a welcoming future.

He recalled Peggy, and swallowed hard. Even that, _even that_ fit, because Bucky had resented her, God knew, for everything she'd meant to Steve, past and present and future. Or, he amended slightly, past and more recent past and... well, who knew what might have been? If Bucky hadn't fallen, if Steve hadn't been frozen, if, if, if...

Bucky shuddered. Had he hated her enough to have made her into the Winter Soldier in his hallucination? Was this petty jealousy? A message that he was attempting to send to Steve -- that Peggy was a danger that Steve refused to acknowledge, a deadly, relentless force that cared more for Captain America than for Steve Rogers?

And if it was, then what did it mean that should have been Bucky behind those blank eyes and remorseless attacks?

What did it mean if all of this was actually _real_?

_Fuck. You are well in over your head, Barnes_ , he chided himself. _Might've been best if you had listened to Tony and stayed where you damn well belonged_.

Bucky felt his throat close up and knew that if he caved, he'd be bawling like his baby sister. He tipped his head back and stared wide at the ceiling until the urge subsided a bit. He had to do _something_ , he thought, or he would go mad.

"Um, hello?" he tried tentatively. God, he really _was_ going mad, talking to an empty room. At least no one was here to witness it. "JARVIS?"

"Mr. Barnes, how may I be of service?"

Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin. "I, uh. Um." He'd forgotten what he was going to ask, he'd wanted to know... Oh, yes. "How's Tony doing?"

"Just awoken, in fact," JARVIS told him. "May I give him a message for you?"

Bucky bit his lip. He was _not_ , he reminded himself, a stammering child. Misplaced in time or not, he was a soldier -- well, an ex-soldier -- and a man of action and determination. He worked his jaw and lifted his chin. "Yes sir," he said, firmly but politely, because this wasn't a battlefield and neither his own Ma nor Steve's had ever been willing to abide rudeness. "Tell him, if you would, that if he's feeling better, I'd like to speak to him. When he's got the time."

"Of course, sir," JARVIS said, and Bucky must have been imagining that warm tone of approval, because JARVIS wasn't a real person. There was a brief pause, and then JARVIS said, "Mr. Stark wishes to know if you are free now, or if he should make an appointment with you for later this evening."

Bucky blinked in surprise, then snorted. "So he's well enough to joke, at least."

"I believe so, sir."

Bucky grinned. "Now's fine, JARVIS, thanks."

Tony was at his door five minutes later, looking worlds better for his short nap. He greeted Bucky with a bright smile and ducked through the door to look around as if he hadn't seen the place before, as if he didn't own it. "This is where Steve put you? It's one of the smaller suites; he could have given you one of the other vacant--"

"It's more than fine, Tony," Bucky interrupted. "Biggest place I've ever lived, unless you want to count a couple of barracks. Which I'd rather not."

Tony shrugged. "Okay, fine, but if you decide you need more room, speak up and we'll make it happen. _Mi casa es su casa_ , and all that." He walked past Bucky and down the hall, peered into the bathroom briefly and then moved on to the bedroom as if looking for something or someone. "Find everything you need? We'll see about getting you some clothes and things tomorrow. And whatever else is lacking, of course, some decorations to help it feel less like a terribly bland hotel--"

"Tony."

Tony spun on his heel, eyebrows raised.

"Tony, I don't... You've been incredibly generous, and don't think I'm not grateful, but I've got all of about two hundred dollars to my name." He only had that much because they'd drawn a couple months' pay all at once, just a couple of weeks before that last mission on the train, and Bucky had set that aside to send to his folks the next time they were somewhere with a post he could trust. In 1945, that would have made Bucky feel pretty flush, but even back then, it wasn't enough to set up house. And Tony had given him a lesson in economics a couple of weeks back that had made his jaw drop; he had an idea just how worthless his two hundred was, these days.

Tony sighed and turned around, went back to the living room and dropped carelessly onto the spotless sofa. "Right breast pocket," he said.

Bucky frowned, confused. "What?"

"Your right breast pocket," Tony said, waving at Bucky's shirt.

Eyes on Tony, Bucky slowly unbuttoned the pocket. There was a folded scrap of paper there that opened to reveal an address and three lines of very neatly, precisely-written numbers. "What's this?" Bucky asked, though his twisting gut thought it knew.

Tony did not _quite_ smile, though his lips twitched. "The account. The one I was drawing on in France."

That's what Bucky had been afraid of. "Why?"

"Originally?" Tony said, meeting Bucky's eyes squarely. "Because I was not 100% certain that you would actually be able to come back across the time gap with me. There was a chance that you simply would not have been able to leave your own time. And if that happened, I wanted you to have... something. A memento, call it." He looked away. "Or an apology."

"Tony, that's..." _Crazy_ , he wanted to say. "Thank you," he said instead. "That was very thoughtful, really. But I did make it. And that money is yours."

Tony shook his head. "Call it back pay. Or--"

" _Tony_." Bucky rubbed at his eyes. "I know you're trying to help, but I'm feeling like a, a freeloader, here."

"Hey," Tony said, "you haven't even been here for a full day yet. Not even _half_ a day. Give yourself at least as much credit as a fish, at least. How can you be a freeloader for less than a day? You don't... Look, you're here. Okay? That's not changing. You were Steve's right-hand man for three years in the army, and if he can be believed, you all but supported him for most of a decade before that. Was he lying to us?"

Tony's eyes were bright. Uncomfortably, Bucky shrugged. "Probably not too much."

Tony nodded. "Then if you won't let me help you, then at least let _him_. For a little while. A few weeks, maybe a month or two." Those eyes became sharp, piercing. "Any other man would still be healing from those wounds you took. So give yourself that long. And then I promise, if you want to be useful, we _will_ find a use for you. Tactics, op support, field support if you want it. Trust me, you're not going to be a hanger-on or a freeloader."

Tony paused, then added, "If it helps, consider yourself on a detached mission to adapt to your new surroundings."

That... actually helped. Bucky took a couple of deep breaths, letting it sink in. Feeling the sense of it in his bones. There was new language to learn, new customs to absorb, new clothing to learn to wear inconspicuously. If he thought of Steve as his ops command and Tony as the native guide... Bucky thought he could just about stomach the idea of another month or so of what his jittery hands suggested was sinful idleness after their weeks in the French countryside, where the most Bucky had done was some housekeeping and errand-running.

He let out one more long sigh. "You're right," he said. "I can do that."

"Good," Tony said, but he waved dismissively when Bucky tried to hand him the slip of paper with the account information on it. "Keep it," he said. "Better yet, I'll get you a card to access it. Don't have to use it if you don't want to, but I'll feel better if you've got an emergency fund."

Bucky tipped his head and studied Tony for a long minute. "Who else has an emergency fund?" he asked, trying to keep the challenge out of his voice.

"Everyone has an account," Tony said. "A personal account. And there's a team account as well, for expenses that can be-- well, I'm not getting into finance law right now, but there are accounts, and everyone has at least one. Some use them more than others. Pretend it doesn't exist, if it makes you feel better, but keep the card -- when you get it -- with you. Just in case." Tony's feigned nonchalance was eerily similar to Steve's, as it turned out. Which meant that for some reason, this was important to Tony.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "That what Steve does with his?"

"It took me a long time to convince Steve that I wasn't trying to obligate him or that I didn't have some... ulterior motive. It might've been Pepper, actually, who did the convincing in the end. But he did come around, mostly because SHIELD's payscale sucked and it took a long time to shake his back pay loose from the government. But now he uses it, once in a while." Tony suddenly looked both exhausted and wary. "You can ask him. I'm telling the truth."

"Never occurred to me that you might not be," Bucky said, honestly. He frowned at the pale, drawn expression on Tony's face, and sat down to put his hand on Tony's arm. "Hey, are you okay?"

Tony gave Bucky the sort of tight smile that Bucky recalled from Steve's younger days as the necessary lie presented when there was no help to be had. "Time travel takes it out of me, I guess," he said.

"Right." Bucky hesitated. "Tony, do you remember…" He remembered the screaming anguish Tony had endured as the timestream rewrote itself in Tony's brain. He couldn't put Tony through that again. Maybe, if he came at it sideways… "Do you remember when you found out who the Winter Soldier was?"

Tony's lips pressed thin. "It was a big shock," Tony said. "Peggy was one of the big heroes of my childhood. Dad talked about her almost as much as he talked about Steve. It was hard to accept that someone so dedicated could be broken and turned. But then, anyone can be, I suppose, with the right amount of pressure." He looked somber and pained.

And he didn't seem to have any memory of it having been Bucky, not at all. Bucky swallowed hard, and nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Peggy _was_ dedicated, far moreso than Bucky, whose chief concern had been trying to get Steve safely through the war and back home again.

Tony stood up. "I know you've still got questions, but I think I need to go. Pep'll be here tomorrow, and she'll need to see me more or less functional. JARVIS should be able to walk you through anything you're not sure how to do, and direct you to wherever else in the building you'd like to go."

Bucky nodded, and rose to his feet even as Tony did. "Thanks, Tony. Sorry if I disturbed you, I was just a little..." He waved aimlessly. "Overwhelmed. Wanted to see a friendly face."

Tony grinned, and it had a spark of real humor behind it. "Nothing to apologize for. I'll talk to Steve and we'll plan a shopping trip for tomorrow, once I've got Pepper's ruffled feathers soothed. Nothing too big on the first round, I promise." He paused at the threshold of the door to ask, "Do you need anything tonight?"

_Will you be all right?_ his too-sharp eyes clarified.

Bucky shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "I'm fine," he said.

Tony nodded once. "Ask JARVIS for help if you need it," he suggested, and then was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's line about "give yourself at least as much credit as a fish" is a reference to Benjamin Franklin's famous saying, "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days."


	15. Just Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warning for an anxiety attack set off by Steve touching the stump of Bucky's missing arm. And Bucky has some period-typical attitudes about mental health and PTSD.

Bucky was standing in the living room, in the dark, staring out at the lights of the city, when JARVIS said, "Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting permission to enter."

"Of course, yeah," Bucky said, but he didn't turn away from the view.

He didn't hear the door opening or closing, or Steve's footfalls; all Bucky knew was that he was looking out into the night alone, and then there were hands on his shoulders, big and warm in a way that Bucky had only recently become used to. Then Steve's chest was pressed lightly against Bucky's back, and that still, even two years later, felt strange and backwards, after two decades of Bucky being the one to pull Steve into _his_ chest. "It's some sight, huh, Buck?" Steve said.

"Sure is," Bucky agreed. "Never thought I'd see so many lights all at once." Steve didn't reply to that, or move, so after a minute, Bucky ventured, "Tony says we're going shopping tomorrow."

"Yeah, he talked to me. I'll come along and try to keep him from going too overboard." Steve's tone was loaded with fond exasperation.

"He said you'd explain to me about the... the account. D'you really take his money?"

Bucky felt Steve's sigh more than heard it. "I do. He wouldn't ever claim a debt on it. That's not how Tony is."

Bucky had already figured that out from their time together in France. He shrugged. "There's more reasons than that not to take charity," he argued.

Steve grunted. "It's not... I didn't take it at first, but when I got to know him better, I realized..."

"Realized what?"

"When Tony gives things to his friends," Steve said, "it's a sign of trust, as much as it is friendship. He's been surrounded his whole life with people who only appreciate him because of what he can give them, who have no idea what a big heart he has. So when he gives someone a gift, he's saying _I trust you not to take advantage of me_."

"Even more reason not to take advantage," Bucky protested.

"You'd think that," Steve agreed, his hands tightening on Bucky's shoulders a little, "but it gets more complicated, with Tony. He doesn't want -- he _won't_ \-- be taken advantage of, but he has a driving need to be _useful_. If someone is not using his gifts, then he... Pepper and Jim had to explain it to me, and it still doesn't make a lot of sense -- and the sense it does make, makes me wish I could punch Howard right in the face. The best I can explain it is, if you don't take what he's offering, he thinks it means  _they_ don't trust _him_ , or don't like him, or that he's not good enough. And then he gets... withdrawn and snappy and all kinds of weird, even for Tony."

Bucky frowned. Tony hadn't acted that way with Bucky in the time they'd known each other, but then, Bucky realized, Tony had been supporting Bucky the entire time. "That's kinda messed up."

"I know," Steve said. "I've been _trying_ to get him to loosen up a little, to trust me, trust the team, even if no one else, but it's... slow going. So in the meantime, I do actually use the account once in a while. Once or twice a month. It's really not charity. No more than it was charity to let you pick up the tab when you'd drag me out on those awful double dates." Bucky could hear the grin in Steve's voice.

If Steve wanted to change the subject, Bucky could oblige. He sniffed. "They weren't awful. They were fun."

"For you and _your_ date, maybe."

"Hey, if you'd ever just relaxed and let yourself have a good time for a--" Bucky broke off at the feel of Steve's mouth at the corner of his jaw.

"I'm having a pretty good time now," Steve mumbled.

Bucky turned to face Steve, smiling. "Yeah? You sure about that?"

Steve kissed him, slow and sweet, hands cradling Bucky's head, thumbs stroking Bucky's face. "Pretty sure. It could maybe get better, though."

Bucky laughed and nuzzled along the line of Steve's jaw, enjoying the way Steve gasped and shivered at the slightest breath. "You implying I'm easy?" Bucky teased. "Think you've got a sure thing, here?" He trailed his tongue down the side of Steve's neck, feeling the jugular pulsing hard and fast.

Steve whimpered softly when Bucky bit down. "I'm always a sure thing for you," Steve managed to say.

Bucky wasn't entirely sure about _that_ \-- Steve had been bracing to move on, after all, and it was only by dumb luck that Tony hadn't brought Bucky back right into the middle of Steve's new relationship with whoever it was, which probably would've caused all kinds of heartache and hurt feelings. But bringing it up now would only kill the mood, so he just smiled and trailed his tongue across Steve's Adam's apple. "Yeah, okay," he rumbled, letting his lips brush the skin of Steve's neck. "You might be wearing too many clothes for a sure thing."

Steve huffed, amusement and false annoyance, and tangled his fingers in Bucky's hair. Not trying to push, not yet. Just holding on. "Go on and take 'em off me, then."

Bucky purred at that -- it may have been five years or more, but Steve hadn't forgotten a trick -- and lifted his hand to the buttons at the collar of Steve's shirt. Unbuttoning wasn't too hard, one-handed. Steve didn't seem to mind that it was going slow, especially since Bucky followed the opening line of the shirt with his mouth, kissing through the thin cotton of Steve's undershirt. "I like this," he murmured softly. "Softer than back home."

Steve's fingers were still carding through Bucky's hair. "Lots of stuff to like about the future," he agreed. "Can't wait to show you everything."

"We'll paint the town red," Bucky teased. Had Steve gotten any better at having fun? Had someone else finally coaxed him out of his shell, here in the future? Selfishly, Bucky hoped not.

He pushed the shirt off one shoulder, then the other, peeling it away from Steve's arms. "God, look at you," he breathed. He'd been saying it since '39. One of these times, he figured, Steve might actually believe him.

Not this time, though. Steve shrugged and reached for Bucky's own buttons. "Rather look at you," he returned, which _he'd_ been saying since '39. Steve had two working hands and didn't seem inclined to tease, so it was only a matter of seconds before Bucky's shirt joined Steve's on the floor. Steve hesitated not at all before pulling Bucky's undershirt off, as well.

He didn't pause to look, though, the way he usually did. He covered Bucky's mouth again, sighing with pleasure as he licked Bucky's breath from his lips. "God, _God_ , I missed you, Buck," he groaned.

"Shh, it's okay, Stevie," Bucky whispered, threading his fingers into Steve's hair and peppering Steve's jaw with kisses. "I'm right here."

Steve took a step back, and then another, pulling Bucky with him. His eyes never left Bucky's face, and it was almost eerie that Steve didn't need to look around to navigate the room, but Steve had only ever needed a glance at something to remember the way it looked; the serum had only made that ability sharper and his memory longer. Steve backed into the couch and sat, pulling Bucky down to straddle his lap.

Bucky leaned in to continue exploring Steve's neck and shoulder. Steve tipped his head back to give Bucky access, his hands sliding restlessly over the skin of Bucky's chest and shoulders and back, as if he needed to touch all of Bucky at once.

Bucky sat up just enough to balance himself and started to work his hand under the edges of Steve's undershirt, feeling the smooth skin of his belly. Steve sucked in a breath and held it, and Bucky laughed softly, pleased that he could still get this reaction. "Did I tickle?" he asked. It was what he had said the first time they'd done this (though Steve had been sitting on _his_ lap, that time).

Steve looked up at Bucky with a shy smile. "You're such a sap."

"One of us oughtta be," Bucky returned, and that was a familiar call-and-response as well. He slid his hand up Steve's ribs, but with only one hand, the other side of the tight shirt dragged against Steve's skin and got stuck. "Damn it," he cursed. He was used to doing this in one smooth gesture; now he was going to have to re-learn everything. _Everything_ , God; he hadn't thought of it before, but it was yet another thing he was going to have to re-learn how to do, another thing that he as going to be only half as good at, anymore.

"Hey, it's okay," Steve said. He pulled the undershirt off himself, quickly, and put one arm around Bucky's waist, lifting the other hand to smooth away the grimace Bucky's face had twisted into. "We had to make some changes after the serum, too," he reminded Bucky. "We'll get this sorted out."

Bucky swallowed hard. "Those were _good_ changes, though," he whispered. "Because you were finally _healthy_. This is--"

"This is a good change, too," Steve said firmly. "Because you _survived_. God's my witness, Bucky. I know what it feels like, to have you dead. I'd rather have you alive, no matter what shape you're in."

Bucky shook his head. "It's not that easy," he said. "I just want..." He shook his head, not knowing what he'd meant to say.

Steve leaned in and kissed Bucky softly. "We'll figure it out, Bucky. Whatever it takes. I love you."

Bucky tried to smile back. "Love you too, you jerk." And that was true, it _was_ true, despite the way his pounding pulse suddenly felt a lot more like fear than lust.

Steve was kissing down his throat, then, lips skating over a path smoothed by Steve's tongue, teeth scraping gently, too gentle to mark but just on the right side of painful for such delicate skin. Bucky shivered and reminded himself that he _loved_ this, loved Steve's mouth on him, loved being the center of Steve's world. He tried to recapture the heady, warm blur of desire he'd been feeling only a few moments ago as Steve licked into the hollow of his collarbone and trailed his lips out onto Bucky's shoulder.

But his moment of panic had rendered him raw, and the gooseflesh raising on his skin wasn't _wanting_ but something colder and darker. Even as Bucky tried to push it away, tried to relax into Steve's caring and warmth, he realized that Steve was mouthing around Bucky's _left_ shoulder, was beginning to kiss down toward his goddamn _stump_ \--

Bucky was halfway across the room, backing away, arm and stump both held up and out, warding. The skin around his eyes felt stretched and if his heartbeat had been fast before, now it was _racing_.

"Bucky?" Steve looked confused and hurt, just for an instant, and then was all guilt and concern. "What's-- did I hurt you? What did I do?" He reached out a hand, started to stand, then froze in place when Bucky scrambled back a few more steps.

"No. No, you didn't-- I'm not-- Don't--" Bucky couldn't breathe, his lungs wouldn't inflate. He couldn't. His mind spun faster than he could recognize any individual thought. He needed to help Steve, who was looking more and more worried, but he couldn't, _couldn't_ \-- What was happening to him? Was it some artefact of the time travel? Was he _dying_?

Was the Winter Soldier coming to claim him?

Bucky didn't remember falling to his knees, but his hand was clenched in the thick pile of the carpet now. There was a wailing, grating sound that Bucky recognized as his own aborted attempts at breathing.

A warm hand closed on his shoulder -- his _right_ shoulder, but he shivered and shuddered anyway.

"Deep breath, Bucky," Steve said, in his battle-command voice, a voice Bucky had learned to obey without question.

He pulled in a breath, and it nearly made it to the back of his throat before he gagged on it.

"Another," Steve commanded, and drew an exaggerated breath of his own, like he could breathe _for_ Bucky if he only tried hard enough.

God knows Bucky had done the same for Steve through twenty years of asthma attacks, hanging on each raspy, whistling breath in the terror that it would be the last. Bucky fought for breath the way Steve had once fought, muscling the air through his choked throat and into his seizing lungs.

"Another," Steve said, and Bucky obeyed.

The next, he managed on his own, only listening to Steve's strong breaths.

The next was easier, and the one after that.

He didn't know how long they knelt there on the floor, just breathing. Bucky's heart began to slow, and he was suddenly chilled, hyper-aware of his half-naked state. He started to shiver uncontrollably.

"God," he whispered. "Oh, God, Steve, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

"Buck, it's okay," Steve said. "Come on, come here." He all but lifted Bucky from the floor and guided their steps back to the couch. He wrapped a blanket around Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky had no idea where it had come from, but he clutched its edges tightly, pulling it in against his chest. "Sorry," he whispered again. "I don't know why I... I'm sorry, you didn't deserve--"

"Bucky." Steve's tone was even, but Bucky knew him well enough to catch the hint of suppressed irritation under it. "You didn't do anything wrong. Stop apologizing. If anything, I'm the one who messed up."

Bucky screwed his eyes tight shut and shook his head. "No. My fault, I should've known, shouldn't have let it get to me."

Steve's hands on the side of his head stopped Bucky from rocking he hadn't realized he'd been doing. "It's not your fault, Bucky. Jesus. Everything you've been through, a little shellshock's to be expected."

Bucky flinched at the word. "I'm not crazy," he mumbled.

"You're not," Steve agreed. "But you've been through a lot, Buck. Only stands to reason you need some time to work it all out."

"It's been two _months_ since I fell," Bucky complained. Then he whined in sudden realization. "You've been waiting five _years_ , and I went and bunged it up."

"Hey, no, don't. You didn't bung anything up. I'm so damn happy just to have you back." Steve pulled Bucky into a rough hug, and Bucky shamelessly tucked his head under Steve's chin, all but burrowing into the warmth of the embrace. "So happy, Buck, I don't even have words. Doesn't matter if we wait a little longer for anything else, whether that's an hour or a day or a week or a year or... You matter to me a lot more than sex, Bucky. So stop apologizing. I've got you back, and it's a miracle. I ain't gonna forgive you for that."

Bucky snuffled back a sob. "Sap," he accused, hoping Steve wouldn't notice the tremor in his voice.

"Every bit of it, where you're concerned," Steve agreed mildly. He ran a hand roughly across Bucky's scalp, and Bucky found himself leaning into the touch.

They were still for a long moment, and then Steve sighed. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you to bed."

Steve led him into the bedroom and helped him strip down to his boxers. Steve pulled back the covers on the bed -- bigger than any bed Bucky'd ever had, for sure -- and helped him climb in and get settled.

Steve pulled the covers back over Bucky and tucked him in like he was six, and Bucky, feeling the full weight of exhaustion, let him. Steve hesitated, then leaned in for a kiss, and that was nice. Bucky slung his arm around Steve's neck to hold him down when Steve would have pulled away, and Steve hummed happily into another kiss. The sound made Bucky feel warm right down to his toes.

When they broke apart, Steve brushed his knuckles lightly across Bucky's cheek. "You want me to stay?"

Bucky _did_ want it, but when he thought about Steve curling up warm beside him, throwing an arm across Bucky's body and tangling their legs, his breathing went erratic again and his heart started to race. "I... I maybe need a little time," he was forced to admit. "I just..."

"You don't have to explain it to me," Steve said. "Promise you'll have JARVIS call me if you need me."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, 'course." He bit his lip and looked up at Steve. "This wasn't the reunion I was hoping for. Sorry, Stevie."

Steve kissed him again, slow and sweet. "Told ya, jerk, I'm not forgiving you for turning up alive. Everything else is just icing."

Bucky sighed, and let his heavy eyelids close. "Love you, punk."

"Love you too, Bucky." Steve's lips brushed Bucky's forehead, and then Bucky heard his retreating footsteps. "Sleep well."

Bucky was too sleepy to reply. He listened until he couldn't hear Steve's steps any longer, and then snuggled down into the ridiculously-soft bed...

...and listened to the silence.

And listened.

Too tired to open his eyes, his ears strained at even the slightest noise, every one of which was unfamiliar and eerie.

He summoned the energy to refluff his pillow and turn over.

Sleep still eluded him.

It reminded Bucky of that first night in the cottage in France. The harder he'd tried to sleep, the blacker and more ominous the silence had seemed. He'd fought it for hours, he thought, not wanting to seem childish, before finally, reluctantly, slipping from the narrow bed. He'd sat in the hallway, where he could just barely hear the clock ticking in the front room, hoping its rhythm would soothe his fractured thoughts. Slowly, he'd become aware of the gentle sound of breathing from behind Tony's door, and that had been so comforting he'd fallen asleep before he'd even realized it.

When Tony had tripped over him the next morning, Bucky had braced for mockery, but Tony hadn't said a word against him, not even in a friendly tease. Tony's own eyes had flickered with shadows, and he'd taken up the mantle of protector without so much as an instant's hesitation.

It had been odd, after a lifetime in the role himself, but also nice, like having a burden lifted that Bucky hadn't even realized he'd been carrying.

Bucky rolled onto his back and pried open his eyes to look at the ceiling. Tony had told him... "JARVIS?" he whispered.

"How may I be of service, sir?" the robot voice responded, using the same hushed tone Bucky had.

"Tony said, uh, he said you could help, maybe, if I couldn't sleep?"

"Indeed, sir, he warned me that you might find too much quiet a touch distracting." There was no judgment at all to JARVIS' cultured voice, and Bucky felt himself relaxing slightly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "What, uh... What'd he have in mind?"

"Mr. Stark suggested that you responded well to the sound of another's presence," JARVIS explained. "He has permitted me to supply you with the audio feed from his own room, as he believes you had grown used to the sound of his own breathing."

Bucky blinked. "You can do that?"

"Yes, sir."

Bucky remembered Steve tucking him in, and a flush climbed up his neck. "Uh, he's not, um. Listening in on _me_ , is he?"

"Certainly not," JARVIS responded, sounding just the slightest bit offended. "Your privacy is among my highest concerns. Mr. Stark would not be permitted to see or hear anything happening in your quarters without your express permission." JARVIS paused for just an instant, and then added, apologetically, "Unless an emergency was suspected, of course, and you failed to respond to a verbal prompt from me."

"Oh." Bucky thought about that. It was a little strange, knowing that the robot was keeping watch all the time, but since they were all superheroes who might be attacked at any moment, he supposed it made sense.

"Shall I connect you to Mr. Stark's feed?" JARVIS prompted.

"He said it was okay?"

"I would not otherwise offer," JARVIS responded solemnly.

Bucky bit his lip, then nodded. "Yes, please."

And suddenly, there it was, the soft hiss of Tony's breathing, already slow and rhythmic in sleep. Bucky closed his eyes, and it sounded just like Tony was on the other side of the room, just as he had been in France, just a few steps away. Close enough they could protect each other. Close enough to remind Bucky that he wasn't alone.

Close enough for comfort.

Bucky matched his breathing to Tony's, and slid seamlessly into sleep.


	16. Threads of Fate

The light filtering through his eyelids was brighter than it should be, the sounds of the space all wrong. Bucky came awake all at once, sitting up with a gasp and reaching for a sidearm that wasn't there. He blinked in confusion for a moment before remembering where he was, and more importantly, _when_.

"It was real," he breathed in wonder. "It was all real."

"Good morning, sir," JARVIS said.

"Shit!" Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin and then subsided, panting. "Uh. Hey, JARVIS. What can I do for you?"

"Quite the opposite, sir; Mr. Stark suggested that I offer my services to you upon your waking. He believes some of the controls in your apartment may be unfamiliar enough to require explanation."

"Oh." Bucky turned to put his feet on the floor, stretched, and scratched his fingers across his scalp. "Okay, yeah. We can start with the shower. Tony promised me wonders!"

***

Cleaned and dressed (and yeah, the shower was almost as amazing as Tony had promised), Bucky followed JARVIS' instructions and found himself back in the common area where he'd been introduced to the team the previous evening. Only Steve was there, sprawled on the couch and reading something on one of those hand-sized screens. The room seemed much larger with only one superhero in it. "Morning," Bucky said as he came in. "Is there coffee?"

"Is there coffee?" Tony's voice said incredulously, and Bucky turned to see Tony emerging from the kitchen, his hands wrapped around two enormous mugs. He extended one to Bucky. "Here. Have some _good_ coffee and understand what kind of pain I was in for the last two months."

Bucky snorted as he took the offered mug, but he had to admit this was a much smoother, less bitter coffee than any they'd had in France (never mind the stuff they'd drunk in the field, which Bucky had always known was inferior).

"That other one for me?" Steve asked mildly. His lips twitched, tacitly admitting that he knew damn well he was stealing Tony's own coffee. Bucky expected a protest -- it hadn't taken very long at all for Bucky to learn how seriously Tony took coffee -- but Tony just huffed out a long-suffering sigh, handed the mug over to Steve, and trudged back into the kitchen, presumably to make more.

"That's a neat trick," Bucky said.

Steve grinned as he sipped. "To be fair, that was at least his third cup. I'm not dumb enough to try for the first or second. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a log, once I finally went under," Bucky answered honestly. "Little startling when I woke up, though."

Tony re-emerged and flopped down on the couch, somehow managing not to spill his new cup of coffee. "Did JARVIS get you sorted out?"

"Yeah, thanks for that," Bucky said. "I probably could've figured out the shower by myself, but I wouldn't have found the razor to shave with."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Cabinets are not exactly complicated tech, Buck."

"I didn't want to go poking around in someone else's things."

Tony threw up the hand that wasn't holding his coffee in exasperation. "Everything in there is _yours_ , it's not poking--"

"Sir," JARVIS interrupted, "you asked to be informed when Ms. Potts had reached the premises."

Tony looked startled. "Already? It's only, what, nine? Did she take the red-eye?"

"Yes sir, I believe so. She had the jet prepared to take off shortly following the shareholder's banquet last night."

Tony stood and squared his shoulders like a man about to face a firing squad. Bucky cast a questioning glance at Steve, but Steve kept his seat, looking amused. Before Bucky could ask, though, the elevator opened to reveal a tall, elegant woman with strawberry-blonde hair and an expression hovering between terrified and furious. "Tony," she sighed, and strode across the space between them to throw her arms around Tony's neck. Bucky straightened, but Steve didn't even stand up for her.

Tony patted her back, fond and awkward at the same time. "Hey, Pep, it's okay, I'm back, I'm fine."

"Two _weeks_ ," she said reproachfully, "and none of us even knew where to start looking!" She pulled back and looked searchingly into his face.

Tony took her hand and patted it indulgently, but kept hold of it. "At least it wasn't three months this time," he said. From the way Ms. Potts winced, Bucky figured it the story behind it was at odds with the light tone he used.

"Tony, you can't just--"

"Pepper. Come on, we split up specifically so you wouldn't have to worry so much."

Ms. Potts sighed and gave Tony an eloquent look. Tony pretended not to see it. "Come on, let's go up to the office and you can fill me in on everything I missed while you scold me," he offered.

"You're taking all the fun out of the scolding," she said, but some of the tension left her shoulders as she let Tony steer her toward the elevator.

Bucky watched them go with a strange sense of near-panic. "Are we still shopping later?" he called.

"You bet!" Tony called back.

***

Bucky hesitated outside the door. There were some things that a man didn't want to know.

There were some things a man _needed_ to know, even if he didn't want to. Bucky drew a breath, held it, and knocked.

The door opened. Thor beamed brightly. "Good morning! How may I help you?"

Bucky took another deep breath. "I have some questions about-- about time travel. If you have time."

"I am no expert," Thor said, "but I will do the best I may. Please, come in." He led Bucky into his apartment and offered him a seat. "Tell me your questions, and I will endeavor to help."

Bucky chewed on his lip while he organized his thoughts. "How bad is it, maybe, if what Tony did changed... things?"

Thor frowned and stroked his beard. "Any changes made to the timestream should have reconciled in your memory long since."

Bucky shook his head. "Nothing changed for me, but Tony said things, before his memories were fixed, that made me think I'm... in the wrong place."

"No, you're not," said a new voice. Bucky turned to see Jane Foster emerge from a back room of the apartment. She looked sleepy and rumpled, but her eyes were still as bright and curious as when Bucky had met her the previous day.

"Dr. Foster," Bucky said, standing quickly and backing toward the door. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude--"

"Call me Jane, please," she corrected. "You're right where you're supposed to be."

It took Bucky a moment to realize that she was not referring to his place in Thor's apartment, but in the timestream. He tried not to think too hard about why she was wearing a shirt four times too big for her and apparently nothing else, or why she was coming out of what was probably Thor's bedroom, if this apartment's layout was anything like his own. He reminded himself that this was not 1945, and furthermore, that it was none of his business.

Questions. He'd had questions, and _not_ about the sleeping arrangements of superheroes and their friends. Time travel. Memory. Right. "Your memory's been fixed, though," he argued, retrieving the thread of the discussion. "How can you know where I'm supposed to be?"

Jane folded herself onto the couch and casually leaned back against Thor. "If you weren't meant to be here, the energy output required to bring you forward would have been too high for the device to generate." She said it matter-of-factly, watching Bucky closely. "Which, I have to admit, makes me very curious. Why do you think you're in the wrong place?"

Bucky looked from Jane to Thor and back. Someone, he thought, should know. "I think... I think I'm supposed to be the Winter Soldier," he made himself say.

Thor leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his eyes intent. "Tell us," he said.

So Bucky did -- the things Tony had said, their fending off of the Hydra attack, Tony's initial reaction to discovering that Peggy was the Winter Soldier. He couldn't quite bring himself to voice his fear that it was his own jealousy of Peggy that had doomed her to the role, but when he was done, Jane was nodding. "It fits," she said slowly.

"Yes," Thor agreed. "But what is it that you wish to learn of us?"

Bucky's heart was pounding so hard he feared it would bruise his ribs. They _agreed_ with him. He _was_ supposed to be the Winter Soldier. "How horribly have we messed things up? Do I... Should I go back and" --he swallowed hard-- "and fix it?"

Jane's eyebrows lifted. "Do you _want_ to be the Winter Soldier?"

"No, of course not," Bucky said. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. "But Peggy Carter doesn't deserve it."

"Neither do you," Thor said solemnly. "No one deserves such a fate, but it seems this is an unchangeable thread of the weave."

"I don't understand," Bucky said.

Jane pulled away from Thor and scooted closer to Bucky. She held out her arm. "Look at the cloth," she commanded.

Bucky looked down; it appeared to be a simple cotton shirt, slightly wrinkled. "Okay?"

"Look really close. Can you see the individual threads that were woven to make the cloth?"

He could if he focused closely. He nodded.

"Look closer," Jane continued. "Can you see the individual fibers that were spun together to make the threads?

Bucky squinted. "Maybe?" he hazarded. If he had a magnifying glass, he would be able to, he was pretty sure.

Jane nodded. "If you imagine the timestream to be a cloth--"

"A tapestry of events," Thor contributed.

Jane lazily backhanded Thor, catching him on the arm. Bucky wondered if he even felt it. "Individual fibers don't make much difference to the cloth," she told Bucky. "They fall out or get pulled or worn out all the time. It's not until a _lot_ of them have been lost that you can even begin to tell the difference in the cloth -- places where the fabric is wearing thin -- and even then, a lot more need to fall out before the integrity of the cloth is compromised."

Bucky chewed on his lip. "Okay, I see where you're going, but then how do I fit?"

Jane smiled at Bucky like a proud teacher, as if he'd said something particularly clever. "In this case, the time travel device pulls fibers from the thread and then weaves them back into the thread in another place. I admit the metaphor begins to break down, here, but trust me -- moving a few fibers usually makes little difference to the cloth. But in the event that the fiber we want is critical to the structure of the cloth, then the more tightly-woven it is. Which means we need a lot more energy to pull it free. If your presence in the past was all that important, we wouldn't have been able to bring you to the future."

"I guess I can accept that," Bucky said after a moment's consideration. "But there's still a, a thread that means _Winter Soldier_ , right? It feels wrong to just make Peggy take my place like that."

Thor reached past Jane to put one enormous hand on Bucky's arm. "Painful though it must be, it seems that the Winter Soldier's fate is one that must be suffered, for the good of the tapestry," he said seriously. "But what authority have you to determine _who_ it must be?"

"Because it was supposed to be me," Bucky argued. His throat felt thick. He didn't _want_ to go back, but what kind of man would let another suffer in his place? Not the sort of man who deserved Steve's trust and affection, that was for sure.

"How do you know?" Jane asked, her clever eyes resting calmly on Bucky's face. "How do you know that the switch hadn't already been made before, and _this_ is the correction of an earlier mishap?"

"Because I--" Bucky stopped, frowned.

"You don't," Jane said confidently. "Because you _can't_. Trust me." Her gaze met Bucky's, abruptly sympathetic and just a bit sad. "It's good that you want to help, but you might as well stay and do it in the present. Maybe the tapestry dictates that we rescue the Winter Soldier -- whoever she or he is. You can help with that, I think, more than anyone except maybe Steve. You can help us bring Peggy back."

"Besides," Thor said with a sort of apologetic smile, "the device is returned to Asgard and its guardians there. Such manipulation is strictly controlled by my people, and I much doubt they will look kindly upon another such usage for such small gain. In some other universe, perhaps, you are the Winter Soldier. In this one, I think, you must content yourself with being James Barnes."

Jane smiled. "I'm afraid you're stuck with us, Bucky."

 


	17. Clothes Make the Man

The goddamn fitting room was the size of the bedroom Bucky used to share with Steve, three years (or most of a century) ago. It had hooks and a table for the clothes piled high on Bucky's arm, and a low platform surrounded by mirrors, and two chairs.

What the hell did a fitting room need _two_ chairs for?

Bucky dropped the pile of clothes on the table and then sank into one of the chairs and covered his face with his hand.

They'd only been shopping for twenty minutes. He needed to get a grip.

Just outside the door, Bucky could hear Steve and Tony, not _quite_ arguing, but bickering, like an old married couple that showed affection via irritable jabs and sarcastic quips.

"--place is too damn upscale for folks like me and Bucky, Tony, you _know_ that. And how many things did you pile on him, anyway? You're going to overwhelm him with--"

"If you'd let me take him to Colette, we wouldn't have to do this," Tony interrupted.

Steve snorted. "You took me to Colette once. _Once_. I'm still reeling."

"You're exaggerating."

"Who the hell pays ten thousand dollars for a suit, Tony?"

Bucky stared at the door. He'd obviously heard that wrong.

"Tuxedo," Tony corrected. "And for a Colette Rougeux _unique_ , designed specifically for you? You got off light, probably because she was so charmed by the way you blushed when she measured your inseam."

"I'm just saying, I don't think Bucky's going to be able to deal with Colette," Steve said.

"Which is why we are _here_ ," Tony said. "Buying clothes off the rack. I didn't even hire a personal shopper. This is as lowbrow as I get, stop bitching. Bucky's a big boy, Steve, he can handle putting on some clothes."

Bucky started guiltily. He was supposed to be trying on clothes. He scrubbed at his face with a sigh and started getting undressed.

Clothes in the future weren't _too_ terribly different from the clothes Bucky was familiar with. Some of the fabrics were new, stretchier and lighter and softer, all changes that Bucky liked. Fashions had changed a lot, of course. Pants were worn lower, so low that Bucky wondered if he'd ever get used to feeling like they were about to slide right off his hips. Undershirts were called tees now, and were apparently acceptable streetwear. Tony had handed him a few to try on for size, but Bucky had seen a wide variety of colors and with words and pictures on them for people to look at. Some of those words and pictures were unaccountably rude, and Bucky was still trying to reconcile a society that argued vociferously for universal acceptance and inclusion but condoned wearing clothes that casually insulted every passerby.

It didn't matter too much, though, because when he was wearing the tee, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that he was still only half-dressed. He found a button-down shirt and pulled it on over top, and immediately felt much better, though the buttons were small and the buttonholes so tight that it seemed to take forever to get it closed up with just one hand.

Just as he finished, someone knocked on the door. "Buck?" Steve said. "You doing okay in there?"

"Yeah," he called. "Hang on a sec." He made a pile of the clothes that hadn't fit, or which had been too difficult to manage with only one arm, then unlocked the door and opened it. "Whaddya think?"

Steve gave him the once-over. "Looking sharp, Buck."

"What? Let me see." Tony rounded a corner, more clothes draped over his arm, and narrowed his eyes at Bucky. "Not bad at all. Good choices. That shirt isn't meant to be buttoned up, though." He came right up to Bucky and started unbuttoning it.

"Tony, what the hell?" Bucky hissed. Tony ignored him and kept working. Bucky shot an appealing look at Steve.

Steve just shrugged and grinned. "Tony knows more about these things than I do," he said.

Bucky hadn't been objecting to the fashion, counterintuitive though it seemed; he'd been objecting to the fact that Tony was standing close enough to kiss and essentially undressing him, right here in front of the fitting rooms where everyone in the entire damn store could see--

Bucky closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and held it. It was the future. This wasn't a big deal. Undershirts were streetwear, he wasn't actually being exposed. When he blew out the breath and opened his eyes, he caught Tony looking at him, a fey expression balanced between amusement and sympathy. Before Bucky could say anything, though, Tony ran a hand brusquely down Bucky's chest, brushing out the fabric, and stepped back, gesturing like some kind of magician.

"That does look better," Steve admitted. He jerked his head to indicate a bank of mirrors nearby. "Take a look."

Bucky wandered over to see.

The empty sleeve still drew his eye first. He bit his lip and wondered if it would be rude to ask for a prosthetic. Nothing fancy, just something to fill in his sleeve and keep people from staring.

The clothes looked fine, if a bit strange, but the look wasn't dissimilar to that of a couple of the mannequins behind him, so he guessed Tony had been right about the shirt.

"Tony, no," Steve said.

Bucky turned around to see Tony grinning and holding up two tees. One was fire-engine red with a white-blue circle over the sternum and read "IRON MAN" in metallic gold letters. The other was bright blue and had the design of Steve's shield covering the chest and no writing at all. "Steve, yes," Tony returned.

"Tony," Steve chided fondly. "He can't possibly--" Steve turned to Bucky. "Tell him you don't want those."

"Damn right I want them," Bucky said. At least they weren't rude. "Do they have the rest of the team?" Bucky grinned at the glee on Tony's expression. Steve shot both of them his "I love you but I hate you" glare and then tossed up his hands and walked away.

Tony made Bucky pick out what seemed like a ridiculous number of both tees and button-downs (that weren't supposed to button), along with a bunch of pairs of pants -- how many times a day did a man need to change his clothes, anyway? -- and then dumped the whole lot into the arms of a saleswoman who was standing nearby.

Bucky was just about to heave a sigh of relief when Tony announced, "Next up, a suit."

"What?"

"Everyone needs a suit. Even if you only wear it once a year," Tony said firmly, putting his hand on Bucky's back and steering him into the aisles of the store.

"But--"

"No buts." Tony paused, considering. "Well, maybe Steve's butt. You could bounce a quarter on that--"

" _Tony_."

Tony spun around to grin at Steve, who had reappeared and was looking somewhere between amused and annoyed. "Steve, we were just talking about you!"

"I'm aware," Steve said drily. "Enhanced hearing. If I concentrated, I could tell you how much Mrs. Jensen's new dress is going to cost her, up front at the register."

"But you were focusing on _me_ instead?" Tony said. He batted his eyelashes absurdly. "You could turn a guy's head with that kind of talk."

Steve snorted. "Let's just get our shopping done. I'll help Bucky pick out a suit. We've got his size pretty well sorted now, go get socks and underwear." Tony mock-saluted and lengthened his stride to move ahead of them. Steve fell in beside Bucky, shaking his head with a wry smile. Was he just a little bit pink? "Don't let Tony get to you," Steve advised. "He flirts like that with just about everyone. Doesn't mean a word of it, it's just the way he is."

"Yeah, I know, we were living together for more than a month, remember?" Bucky said, even though Tony hadn't flirted nearly as relentlessly with Bucky. Maybe Tony thought Bucky would be offended. He wanted to put his arm around Steve and lean in, but didn't. He had plenty of practice at suppressing that desire. "It'll be fine. It's kind of fun to watch him, actually."

"You have a strange idea of fun," Steve said.

"Yup," Bucky agreed. "'Swhy I spend so much time with you."

"Jerk."

"Punk."

Bucky was all for just picking out the cheapest thing they could find in his size, and was surprised to have that suggestion vetoed. "Tony will know and he'll just drag us back over here," Steve said. "Come on, Buck, you always had a good eye for a sharp outfit. It won't take too long to find something that looks good on you."

Bucky grumbled and muttered, but started looking through the various styles on display. Without Tony's "help", he was able to narrow it down to a few choices pretty quickly.

"I dunno, Steve, which one do you think?"

Steve eyed Bucky's selections, then looked at Bucky. "The blue one."

"It's a weird color for a suit, though." Most of the suits in the store were navy blue or black or charcoal grey. This was a somewhat lighter blue, close to the color of Bucky's favorite wool coat, the one that had been ruined in his tumble from the train.

"Wait until you see some of the things Tony wears," Steve promised. "It'll be fine. Anyway, it's the one you want. You keep coming back to it. At least try it on."

Bucky ducked his chin, but couldn't help smiling. Steve always noticed those things. He took the suit into the fitting room along with a plain white shirt.

When he came out, Tony was back, in the middle of another one of those near-arguments with Steve. Steve broke off mid-sentence, his eyes widening comically -- and flatteringly -- when he caught sight of Bucky. "Wow. I mean, gosh, Buck. That's the one, for sure. It makes your eyes light up."

"Yeah?"

Tony was less struck, but nodding in approval. "It's a good choice," he said. He snatched a tie off the nearby rack and came back up into Bucky's space to thread it around his neck and begin tying it for him. "You'll need some help with ties, I expect," he muttered as he worked. "I'll get you a reference for some newer knots. Do _not_ let Steve use his old man knots on you. They would just confuse the lines of this suit."

Bucky just nodded. He was trying not to think about Steve standing as close as Tony was now, hands nimble at his throat, breath spilling over his skin... Dammit. Well, at least the suit pants were a little looser than the jeans Tony had made him pick out.

Finally, Tony stepped back and looked Bucky over critically. "Yes," he finally pronounced. "Some colored shirts, a few good ties. Yes. Good." Then he whirled back to Steve, pointing accusingly and apparently resuming the interrupted discussion. "You don't get a say. Don't try to tell me that Natasha didn't make all the choices for you when she updated your wardrobe."

"Of course she did," Steve grumbled, "and I wish she'd left _that_ one the hell alone. There's nothing wrong with--"

"What are you two arguing about now?" Bucky demanded.

"Underwear," Steve sighed, rubbing at his forehead tiredly. "Of all the asinine--"

"You're trapping him in the forties!" Tony accused. "There are so many better choices now, and--"

"Are you kidding me right now?" Bucky said. "You're arguing about _boxers_?"

"Not just boxers," Tony said. "That's the problem. There's boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs, trunks, thongs--"

"Tony."

"There are a lot of options, Steve."

"And boxers will be fine!"

"You can't be serious. Boxers will make those jeans look like--"

"How about," Bucky interrupted, "we just get a couple of everything and when I decide what I like, I'll get more of it."

"Everything?" Tony asked, and his eyes suddenly lit with mischief.

"Um," Bucky hedged.

"Tony, no," Steve started. He wasn't fast enough.

"Because this store does have a very lovely and discreet line of manties."

"...of what?" Bucky glanced at Steve, but Steve was no help. He'd buried his face in his hands, and what little Bucky could see of him -- mostly his ears -- was tomato-red.

"Manties," Tony repeated patiently. "Nylon and silk and satin, all very tasteful, sized and cut for--"

"You mean ladies' underthings?" Bucky hissed, feeling his own neck heat to match Steve's ears.

"No. _Men's_ underthings." Tony hesitated, then shrugged. "That, okay, look like what _traditionally_ have been considered ladies' underthings. But why let the ladies have all the good stuff?"

"Tony," Steve groaned. "Can you just let it go?"

"I think we should let Bucky decide. He'll be wearing them, after all."

Bucky's face was growing warmer by the second, and even if he _was_ curious about the lad-- er, manties, he was pretty sure the words would stick in his throat. "Let's just, uh, stick to the regular stuff today, okay?"

Tony looked like he was going to keep poking at it, but then he glanced from Bucky to Steve and took pity on them both. "Okay. I'll go take care of that, and meet you in shoes."

"I _have_ shoes."

"You have army boots. One pair, and old ones, at that. Come on, Buck, chop-chop."

Bucky sighed and headed for the fitting room again to change out of the suit.

By the time Tony caught up with them again, Bucky and Steve had recovered their aplomb and were sitting on a bench while Bucky laced up a pair of running shoes. "Dumbest damn thing," Bucky grumbled. "Never had more than two pair of shoes at a time in my damn life."

"It really does help, Buck," Steve said earnestly. "Hey, Tony. Didja get the-- Tony?"

Tony had stopped, three paces away, and was staring in wonder at the far wall. "Steve."

Steve turned to see what Tony was looking at. "Oh, God. Tony. No."

" _Steve_."

"No, Tony."

Bucky tried to see what they were both looking at, but all he could see was a display of assorted shoes, most of which were in horrible, eye-searing colors. Nothing stood out as particularly noteworthy, though.

"I have to, Steve. It's a moral imperative."

"It most certainly is _not_."

Tony had his phone out of his pocket. "JARVIS, I need Clint's shoe size right now. Don't tell him, though. It's a surprise."

"Tony." Steve grabbed for the phone, missed, then swiped again for Tony's arm, but Tony dodged, already moving, heading toward the display.

"Damn it," Steve sighed, and followed him.

Bucky was pretty sure that if Steve was _really_ upset about whatever Tony was up to, he'd have succeeded in actually getting the phone away. Curious, Bucky followed, padding along in sock-feet.

Tony pulled up in front of a pair of cowboy boots. They'd have been pretty nice boots, actually, if they hadn't been bright purple. "They are hideous," Tony said, "and Clint will _hate_ them. He must have them. You know I'm right, Steve."

"I'm a little more afraid that Clint will love them and never take them off," Steve said. His mouth was twisting as it fought a losing battle against a smile.

Bucky looked at the boots. "I don't get it."

"Clint likes purple," Steve said.

"And has no taste," Tony supplied. His phone pinged, and he checked it, chortling. He put the phone back into his pocket and started searching the shelves for the correct size.

"So you're going to buy him ugly boots?"

"No," Steve said. He was trying to be stern, but the smile had won the battle, and it came out merely fondly exasperated.

"Yes!" Tony exclaimed gleefully, locating the correct box and holding it up like a trophy.

"That's... a lot of money for a joke gift," Bucky said dubiously.

"Maybe," Tony conceded, "but it'll make Clint smile. Come on, what are you up to, running shoes? Get back to it. If we can wrap this up in the next hour, I'll take you both out for lunch and we can introduce Bucky to, hmm, what d'you think, Steve? That Ethiopian place over on 47th?"


	18. Precision Aim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating on this has changed to an E. That's because of this chapter. Not sorry. ;-)

A firing range was something that Bucky could make sense of, even in the future. Having it indoors felt a little weird, but they were in the city, after all. For all Bucky knew, there had been indoor shooting ranges in the city back in his own day. He hadn't ever seen one until basic training, himself, though, and those had all been outdoors.

Of course, there were other things about this range that were reminding Bucky that they were in the future. Like the way the targets at the far end were glowing blue and transparent, suggesting that instead of paper pinned to hay bales, they were being projected -- and scored -- by JARVIS. Bucky wondered what kept the bullets from ricocheting when they passed through the intangible targets and hit the far wall, but he supposed he'd have to trust Tony's engineering for the time being. Clint didn't seem concerned, and he ought to know.

Clint pressed a thumb against a square on the wall, and the whole wall panel popped open to reveal an impressive array of long rifles. Bucky whistled. "I don't even know what any of those are, but I can tell they're beauties," he said.

"You, sir, are a man of excellent good taste." Clint grinned, proud as a new father. He hefted one down off its rack and held it out, shaking it a little to indicate he meant Bucky to take it from him. "After me, Tasha and Steve are the best shots," Clint said, "but I'm pretty sure you're going to put them both to shame."

Bucky lifted his eyes from the gorgeous, blued steel of the rifle. "That's a hell of a wager to be making," he said, "when I'm down an arm. And Tony told me Natasha's never met a weapon she couldn't master."

Clint shrugged. "That's true as far as it goes, but she's much better at close-in work. She prefers to leave the long-range stuff to me."

"I'm still down an arm."

"Yeah, we're going to work on that," Clint promised. He thumbed open another panel. This one held no weapons that Bucky could identify, but an assortment of tools. Clint fished out a telescoping tripod and something that looked like a harness. "My primary weapon's a recurve bow," he said conversationally.

"Yeah, Tony told me that, too." Tony had said a great deal more than that, actually. Clint, Tony had sworn, could pick a fly off your ear at two hundred paces without so much as parting your hair, and as near as Bucky could tell, hadn't even been exaggerating. Bucky was looking forward to seeing Clint in action.

"I broke my left collarbone about a year ago, on a mission," Clint said. He dropped the gear at his feet and mimed drawing an arrow. "I could still pull the string, but I couldn't brace and hold the bow at the same time. So Tasha and I put this together. Hurt like a sonofabitch, to be honest, but it worked. And you don't have a broken collarbone, so it probably won't even hurt. Stand still." He looped a long leather strip over Bucky's neck and started fastening the harness to Bucky's shoulder.

"Don't think I've ever held a bow in my life," Bucky warned Clint. "You know, aside from toys."

"Wasn't going to suggest it," Clint promised. "It's currently designed to grip my bow's riser, but I can gerry-rig it to work as a steady-grip for the rifle's stock instead. Though _really_ , what you should do is get Tony to just make you a new arm."

Bucky snorted. "Not sayin' I'm opposed to a prosthetic, but--"

"Nah," Clint interrupted. "I'm not talking about a metal-and-plastic job to keep people from staring. Did you see the Winter Soldier footage?"

"Uh. Some of it?" Thinking about Peggy trapped in that role was uncomfortable.

"She's got a fake arm that actually functions. If you think Tony didn't start trying to figure _that_ out the instant he first locked eyes on it, you don't know a damn thing about Tony. Ask him. I bet he's got enough of it figured out from the footage to be able to put something together for you. You'd have to learn to operate it, obviously, but from what we've seen, the Winter Soldier's arm is--"

"Peggy's," Bucky corrected, a touch sharper than he'd meant it to be.

"What?"

"Her name's Peggy," Bucky stressed, "even if she don't know it." He wanted to explain it further, but the words wouldn't form.

Clint didn't seem too disturbed by Bucky's response, though. He gave Bucky a long look. "You sound like Steve," he said.

Bucky shrugged his good shoulder. "We both knew her," he said. "Feels wrong to call her by  _their_ name. She shouldn't have to be what they made her."

Clint considered that, then nodded. "That makes sense," he agreed. He finished tightening the straps, then fitted what looks like a modified tripod into a pocket. It fitted snugly into the hollow of Bucky's shoulder, like the butt of a rifle but on the wrong side.

"How'd it happen, anyway?" Bucky asked, unable to resist the lure of morbid curiosity. "Agent Carter, she was a damn good soldier, better'n most of the men, but she didn't get to leave the base too much. How'd they get their hands on her?"

Clint grunted as he made adjustments. "We don't know a lot," he said. "Some of it was only pieced together in the last year or two. Dunno how much history Tony filled you in on already, but the war ended not too long after Steve went into the ice--"

"Yeah," Bucky interrupted. "I got the basic rundown on that stuff."

"Okay, so once the mop-up phase was done, Colonel Phillips, Agent Carter, and Tony's dad got together and they transformed the SSR into the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. SHIELD for short."

Bucky snorted, and Clint grinned. "Yeah, okay, it's a bit obvious, but it was a secret division anyway, so the name didn't matter that much. Stark headed up the science section, Carter had special ops, and Phillips was overall command. Carter was a field agent for the first few years, too, and a damned good one."

"She would be," Bucky agreed. He lifted the rifle, aiming it downrange, and held it while Clint worked to attach the tripod's grip to the rifle's base for support.

"She went missing," Clint said, "on what should have been a routine mission. Was gone for most of a year, and then she turned back up. Near as we can figure, that's when they got to her, but at the time, she reported that she had resisted and escaped, and they had no reason not to believe her. They treated her for physical and mental trauma, but when she asked to go back on active duty, there was no way Phillips and Stark were going to tell her no. She did retire from field duty, and that didn't seem too suspicious at the time, either, after what she'd been through."

"Christ," Bucky swore.

"Here. Flex your left shoulder a little and see if that's secure enough to allow for minor adjustments," Clint said, and watched as Bucky complied. He leaned in to tighten a strap and said, "We're pretty sure that's where the Hydra infestation started -- when Carter took over desk jockeying. Did Tony tell you about the Hydra thing?"

Bucky nodded. Hydra was more like a swarm of vermin than the mythological monster it was named after; it was impossible to even find them all, much less wipe them all out. "So she started hiring Hydra into SHIELD positions," Bucky said.

"Probably," Clint agreed. "They were worming their way into other secret services, too, all over the world. What Steve did last year, exposing their place in SHIELD -- it took down one of their bigger plots and shut down SHIELD, maybe for good, but I expect the rest of them just scurried for cover like the roaches they are." His jaw worked angrily as he reached over Bucky to slide the rifle's clip into place. "Okay, give her a try."

"But she wasn't the Winter Soldier yet, then," Bucky pointed out. "She was still Agent Carter. Just... Hydra's agent, on the down-low. Right?" He thumbed off the safety and tried to take aim. It felt awkward, until it suddenly didn't, until Bucky's entire focus narrowed to sights and muzzle and target. Gentle as touching a baby's face, he squeezed the trigger and braced his right shoulder for the recoil.

It felt good, better than it should have.

He even hit the target, though it was more than a handspan from center. "Not bad for a first try," Clint said, and leaned in to adjust the sights. "Peggy disappeared again about five years later, and that time she didn't come back. Phillips went looking for her the same way Stark was still looking for Steve, with the same amount of success. The first mentions of the Winter Soldier aren't until almost ten years after that." Clint shrugged. "And of course, no one realized who she was. At least, no one who survived the encounter to tell about it. Not until Steve. So we're not sure what happened to her arm, or when. Tony's guess is that it happened about twenty years ago, because... blah blah blah something about circuits. I tend to tune out a lot of technical stuff when Tony's talking."

Bucky laughed, more to shake off the ghostly sensation of cold that accompanied thinking about Peggy than because Clint was actually funny. Clint stepped back out of the way and Bucky took aim again. It was easier to fall back into it this time, to let everything fall away. He took a breath, laid his finger on the trigger, and breathed out again as he squeezed.

Much better; only a couple of inches off center.

"Anyway," Clint said as he made another tiny adjustment, "you should talk to Tony about an arm. It'd be lots easier than this." He paused, considering. "Well, probably. Tony sometimes makes things harder than they need to be."

"Yeah, I noticed that," Bucky agreed. "The shopping could've been easier, for sure."

"Yeah, but then I would not have new boots."

"I was trying to pretend I hadn't noticed. Leave you with some dignity intact."

"Fuck you," Clint said, grinning. "These are fucking awesome boots."

"Steve was afraid you'd feel that way," Bucky said.

"I'm just sad I missed what must have been an epic argument about it," Clint shot back with a mock-sigh.

Bucky snorted. "Think they were nearly argued out by then," he said, shaking his head. "For supposedly grown men who are good friends, they bicker like old biddies."

"God, yes," Clint agreed. "You'd think they'd just screw and put us all out of their misery."

Bucky froze and stared at Clint. "They'd what?"

Clint blinked in confusion. "Screw? It means have sex; is that slang newer than--" His eyes widened. "Oh. Oh! I was just joking. Kind of."

"Joking." Bucky raised his eyebrows at Clint. "Why are you looking at me like you just shot my dog?"

"You were in the forties, like, a day ago," Clint said. "I don't want you to take my head off for implying that your best friend might be into guys."

Bucky snorted. "Steve and I grew up in, I'm pretty sure, the biggest queer neighborhood on the East Coast. We'd heard all the jokes before we were even ten. I was just a little... Why would you say that about Steve and _Tony_?"

"Well, you know -- to clear out all that tension between them. 'Cause we were talking about how much they argue all the time. I didn't really think-- I was just. You know. Kidding."

Bucky was pretty sure Clint had _not_ been kidding. At least, not entirely. And damned if that didn't suddenly make some things a lot clearer than they had been, if Steve's crush was on Tony.

And damned if that didn't make things a lot harder than they had been, too, because Tony... Tony was pretty serious competition. He was smart, quick on his feet, sharp-tongued and funny, good-hearted and brave -- all qualities that Steve valued highly. And Tony was rich and damnably handsome, too, neither of which ever hurt a guy's chances when it came to courting.

But damn it all, Bucky _liked_ Tony. Apart from Steve, Tony was Bucky's best friend here in the future. Bucky didn't want to have to set himself against Tony for Steve's affection.

Of course, there was no guarantee that Tony even wanted Steve back, and that was something of a comfort, Bucky supposed.

Clint was still half-hovering, looking a little worried that he might have offended Bucky, though, so Bucky forced out a grin. "Yeah, sure. I get it. Still getting used to humor here in the future."

Clint relaxed a little, and Bucky stared back down the top of the rifle's barrel, focusing on the target. Steve might want Tony, but he hadn't made a move yet. So Bucky still had the edge. Bucky was just going to have to make sure to recapture Steve's attention, help him get over that crush.

Bucky shifted his legs to adjust his stance, and remembered that he had some pretty good leverage already at hand.

He took a breath, slid his finger onto the trigger, and breathed out.

Bullseye.

***

"Bucky, God, _Buck_ ," Steve gasped. Bucky didn't answer, just licked the rest of Steve's words out of his mouth and swallowed them.

Steve's hands rested briefly on Bucky's hips before beginning to pull out his shirt. "If I'd known taking you shopping would get you this bothered," Steve teased.

Bucky ground his hips against Steve's, feeling their cocks through their clothes, and covered Steve's mouth again.

Steve pulled out of the kiss to tug Bucky's shirt over his head, but then stopped, cupping Bucky's face in his hands. "Hey. Buck. Really, you okay?"

"So far," Bucky replied. "Gonna be less okay if you don't start getting undressed pretty soon, though."

Steve kissed him (giving Bucky as much teeth as tongue because Steve couldn't stop grinning) and when it broke this time, Steve dropped his own shirt to the floor. "Better?"

"Gettin' there." Bucky shoved his hands down the back of Steve's pants, squeezing at the curve of muscle there.

Steve laughed and gave Bucky the same treatment, only to pull up short as his fingertips brushed Bucky's underwear. "What--"

It was Bucky's turn to grin. He didn't say anything, just arched his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve yanked his hands free as if they were burning. Before Bucky could feel anything like disappointment, Steve was grabbing at the front of Bucky's jeans instead, fumbling to get the fly open. Bucky laughed, but didn't try to pull away. "Someone's excited."

"I cannot believe--" Steve shoved Bucky's jeans down to his thighs and just -- stared.

The manties were made of dark blue satin and gauzy black silk that was so sheer it left nothing at all to the imagination. Bucky had found them after the shopping trip, as he was putting everything away in his room. He'd thought about chiding Tony for buying them after all, but if Tony had meant it as a practical joke, then actually saying anything was playing right into it.

Then he'd thought about just throwing them out, but they were so pretty (and so obviously expensive) that Bucky couldn't quite make himself do that.

Then he'd thought about just shoving them to the back of the drawer and forgetting about them, but the longer he'd held them, wondering what to do, the softer that satin had felt under his fingers, and... well. It couldn't hurt just to _try_ them, could it?

Cut like men's briefs but soft like a lady's negligee, Bucky had rather guiltily pulled his new jeans up over them. For the first hour, he'd worried that everyone who looked at him had, somehow, _known_. Then he'd gotten caught up in the firing range with Clint, and had almost forgotten he was wearing them.

Almost.

Bucky wiggled his hips a little, just to watch Steve's eyes open even wider. "Like what you see, Rogers?"

"Um," Steve squeaked.

"I admit, I was a little dubious at first," Bucky said casually, enjoying Steve's utter inability to look away. "But y'know, they're actually pretty comfortable." He slid his hand down the front of them, pulling the sheer silk tight around his cock, and then smoothed his thumb back up the satin panel on the side. "They feel really nice."

Steve let out a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a whimper. "I, uh" Steve said hoarsely, eyes still locked on Bucky's crotch, "I may have completely misjudged my reaction. A little. Um."

Bucky leaned over to push his jeans the rest of the way off, kicking them to one side. "Yeah? You think I should get some more of these?"

Steve wrenched his gaze back up to Bucky's face. He was blushing so hard it had spread all the way down to his chest, but there wasn't any hesitation in his eyes. "Yes," he said firmly, grabbing Bucky by the hips so hard Bucky was certain it would bruise. "Because I am going to _wreck_ this pair."

Steve dropped to his knees without waiting for a reply and immediately began mouthing Bucky's cock through the silk, and _damn_ but that felt amazing. The fabric transformed the heat of Steve's breath, held on to it so it seemed never to end. He licked the head of Bucky's cock through the cloth, pressing to get to the taste of Bucky's precome, and Bucky fell back against the wall (thank God for the wall) with a moan. "Christ, Steve."

Steve's thumbs rubbed against the satin panels as if they were put there for exactly that purpose. (Shit, maybe they were, Bucky thought hysterically.) "Bucky, you..." Steve lost his words and finished with an inarticulate growl of need as Bucky raked his fingers through Steve's hair.

Steve caught the top of the silk gauze with his teeth. Holding the fabric, he looked up at Bucky earnestly.

Bucky felt the skin around his eyes stretch; there was no way they could get any wider. "Do it," he whispered.

Steve's eyes sparkled and his grip on Bucky's hips got even firmer, and then with one tremendous lurch, Steve ripped the thin fabric straight down the front.

Bucky's knees felt weak. "Oh, _God_ ," he breathed. "That is unbelievably... _God_."

Steve pulled the remnants of the manties away, steadying Bucky so he could step out of the leg hole that was still intact. As soon as he'd tossed them over his shoulder, he closed his mouth over Bucky's cock, sucking it straight into his throat and hollowing his cheeks until Bucky let out a howl and grabbed at Steve's hair.

Bucky's head fell back and thunked hard against the wall, but it didn't hurt. It just seemed to release Bucky's voice. "Steve, _Jesus_ , I ain't gonna be able to-- Steve, Stevie, oh hell, I'm gonna, gonna, _Stevie_ \--" Bucky broke off with another long moan that ended with a breath that refused to release, and then Bucky was gone, hand fisting and toes curling as electricity flooded his whole body.

God, it'd been so long since he'd even done for himself, and now he was spilling wave after wave straight down Steve's compliant throat, Steve's tongue still licking the last of the aftershocks from his balls. Bucky's knees had stopped working altogether; he was only upright at all because of Steve's grip on his hips.

Bucky hadn't entirely come back to himself yet when Steve let his softening prick slide free, and then stood up in one smooth motion so that he was holding Bucky in his arms like a man about to carry his bride across the threshold. "Th' hell?" Bucky managed.

Steve kissed him, tongue slipping deep into Bucky's mouth so that Bucky would taste himself on it. "Didn't look like you'd be able to stand and walk for a few minutes," Steve said when he pulled out of the kiss, eyes sparkling. "And I didn't want to wait that long."

Bucky was pretty sure he knew where this was going, but he played along. "Wait for what?"

"To take you to bed," Steve said, his long legs already carrying them down the hall, "and fuck you stupid."

"Holy mother of God," Bucky said, "when did you learn to talk dirty?"

"When I saw you in that flimsy little bit of nothing," Steve said through gritted teeth.

Bucky laughed and leaned up to run his tongue around the shell of Steve's ear. "Definitely, _definitely_ buying more of tho-- Whoa!" He laughed as Steve tossed him onto the bed, then stopped laughing to watch Steve strip out of the rest of his clothes as fast as super-soldier speed and dexterity could manage.

Then Steve was on the bed as well, pulling Bucky to him and kissing him deliriously, his cock pressing hard into Bucky's thigh as Steve reached for the nightstand drawer.

Bucky blinked a little dazedly at the tube Steve withdrew. "Vaseline?" he asked.

"Same idea, but better," Steve said, smirking. "Future's got some pretty great stuff in this area, I have to say."

"How the hell'd it get in my drawer?" Bucky demanded, even as Steve was pushing his legs open.

Steve's smirk grew. "It's Tony's place," he said. "All the unoccupied suites are fully stocked, just in case they're needed. Toiletries, some basic clothes... Lube and rubbers." He squeezed some of the clear goo on to his fingertip and slid it into Bucky's crack.

Bucky didn't want to think about Tony or why Tony would assume a guest might need sex supplies -- or for that matter, why Steve knew about sex supplies in the guest quarters. "No romance in you at all," Bucky mock-complained, even as he spread his legs wider and let his head fall back.

"You wanted romance, you should'a thought of that before you turned up in those panties," Steve said. "And then the _teasing_ , and all that noise you made? Christ, Buck, I never knew you could make those kinds of noises. It was so damn hot I thought I was going to shoot off without so much as a touch."

Bucky hummed and lifted his hips a little, begging Steve to push in harder and deeper. "Nn, yeah, after a decade of having to bite down on the pillow or put my hand over my mouth in case anyone else hears us? I'm done with that." He opened his eyes to meet Steve's gaze, brushed his fingertips across Steve's mouth and groaned when Steve bit them gently. "Gonna shout it to the world, Stevie, how good you make me feel. How much I love you."

"Yeah?" Steve's expression was soft for a moment, and then sparked again. He pushed a second finger into Bucky and _twisted_ , and Bucky let it punch out another groan just to see the way Steve's eyelids fluttered with delight. Steve leaned in and kissed Bucky slow and deep while his fingers stretched and searched. After a bit, Steve started answering Bucky's noises with quiet hums and moans of his own. "God, Bucky," Steve rasped into Bucky's neck. "Wanna make you _scream_."

A shiver danced down Bucky's body. "Yeah," he breathed. "Want that, Steve, want you to take me apart." Steve pushed harder, deeper, and then curled his fingers _up_ and Bucky arched his back with a whimper. " _Steve_."

"I've got you, Buck," Steve promised. "Gonna make you feel good, so good, I promise."

"God, more, more now, Steve," Bucky demanded, and Steve gave it to him. Bucky was all but floating on a haze of pleasure. Steve was too hot and bothered to drag it out and tease, taking only as much time as he needed to stretch Bucky out (and truth told, Bucky was nearly urgent enough himself to tell Steve to just skip it; he'd heal).

By the time Steve finally started to sink into him, Bucky was hard again, aching and ready, babbling desperately and touching every part of Steve he could reach. "Steve. Stevie. God damn, you feel good. Deeper, need you deeper, Steve, come on."

"Bucky," Steve groaned. His hands curled around Bucky's shoulders as he bottomed out. "Buck, God, Bucky, _Bucky_."

"Right here, Stevie," Bucky said, smoothing his fingers through Steve's hair. "Ain't going nowhere. Just give me a couple of breaths, okay, hang on a couple of... Okay. Okay, shit, God, Steve."

"You okay? Should I--" Steve pushed up on his elbows as if he was going to get up.

Bucky wrapped his arm and both legs around Steve, locking them together. "If you try to leave now I will _kill you_ , so help me God," Bucky growled. "Just." He dragged in a few deep breaths, willing his body to relax. "Okay."

"Yeah?" Steve nuzzled at his jaw. "Buck?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. "Move now."

"So bossy," Steve complained, but then he was moving, and for all Bucky cared he could've been reciting the Preamble to the Constitution.

"God, oh, God, Steve, _Steve_." And shit, Steve wasn't kidding at all about sex-slick in the future, because it didn't get tacky or sticky at all, and Steve was pounding in and out of him and it felt so _God damn_ good. It felt like coming home. This time, when he came, the electric rush whited out his senses entirely.

When he came back to himself, Steve was collapsing from his own climax, all but sobbing relief into Bucky's neck. Bucky petted Steve through the aftershakes, then wobbled to the bathroom for a washcloth. When he crawled back into the bed, he wrapped his legs around Steve's and pillowed his head on Steve's shoulder.

"So, I'm staying, then?" Steve asked lightly.

"Mm-hm," Bucky agreed. "Look, missing an arm makes it so much easier to cuddle."

"Bucky!"

"It's my missing arm, I can joke about it if I want to," Bucky grumbled. "Go to sleep, Steve."

Steve fell silent for a bit, though his fingers were stroking Bucky's hair and then wandering up and down Bucky's back, so he wasn't asleep. After a few minutes, he said, "Did you mean it, about shouting it to the world?"

"Wasn't I loud enough for you just now?"

"No, I meant..." Steve drew a deep enough breath to shift Bucky's position against his chest. "We can tell the others. If you want."

Bucky half-sat to look down at Steve. "Really?"

"Really. I love you, Bucky. I want everyone to know."

Bucky laid back down so Steve wouldn't be able to see the tears in his eyes. "You're such a sap, Rogers."

"Well, one of us ought to be."

 


	19. Strategic Withdrawal

Bucky woke to warmth and the sensation of fingers trailing up and down his arm, creating constellations from the freckles there. "Time izzit?" he mumbled.

"Seven-thirty," Steve said. "Time for a shower before breakfast."

"Mm." Bucky rolled over, half on top of Steve, and grinned down at him. "We could skip the shower and make time for something else."

Steve looked like he was torn between laughing and smacking the back of Bucky's head, until Bucky lowered his head to kiss him. "Uhn," Steve groaned, pulling out of it. "Let's compromise on sharing the shower."

"Deal!" Bucky rolled back off with a grin, grabbing Steve's wrist and pulling them both up off the bed.

They were late for breakfast. When they emerged from the elevator in the common area, Steve's arm was around Bucky's shoulders and he was wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing the night before. Both of them were still damp from the shower, and Bucky almost flinched from all the eyes that turned to them. It seemed like a _lot_ of eyes, even if the whole team wasn't present. Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder reassuringly, but didn't let go until he'd steered Bucky toward a pair of empty chairs.

Sam's eyebrows went looking for his hairline, and then he covered a smirk with a big gulp of orange juice.

Banner looked startled, and then worried, but when he caught Bucky looking at him, he just smiled and turned his focus to a bowl of what looked like oatmeal.

Clint looked from Bucky to Steve and back again, and then scrubbed both hands over his face. "God damn it, Barton," he mumbled to himself.

Natasha, who either wasn't eating or was already finished, leaned back in her seat with a steaming mug cradled in her hands. "That explains a lot," she said neutrally.

Steve slid into the seat next to Bucky's and shrugged nonchalantly as he reached for the coffee carafe, though Bucky could see the pink curl of a blush climbing the back of his neck. "Coffee, Buck?" he said, then gave Natasha a faint smile and told her, "It's nothin' new."

"Yeah, coffee, thanks." Bucky couldn't quite figure out where to look.

"What's nothing new?" said Tony's voice, and the man emerged from the kitchen, carrying a big bowl of what looked like cut-up fruit. He set the bowl in the middle of the table and helped himself to a heaping serving before dropping into the chair between Natasha and Banner.

"Steve an' Bucky, apparently," Clint groaned from behind his hands.

"Sure," Tony said, "best friends since--" He broke off as he finally actually _looked_ at them, and then his eyes widened slightly. "Oh." He grabbed up his coffee mug and took a gulp. "Well, don't I feel foolish," he told his fruit.

Bucky's stomach twisted. "I would'a told you," he protested. Damn it, he hadn't felt this guilty since he was a kid, and he wasn't even sure _why_. He'd never felt this bad for edging out a rival before, and it wasn't like his and Steve's history was any of Tony's business. "I'd'a told you, except I didn't wanna spill on Steve, if you didn't know."

"No, no, that's fair, it's fine," Tony said smoothly. He flashed a smile somewhere between Bucky and Steve, but it had a brittle look around its edges. "I'm not judging, no one is judging. I'm just surprised. Congratulations are in order, I guess."

Steve was watching Tony, and a faint crease was forming between his eyebrows, but then he picked up Bucky's hand with a reassuring smile. "Nothin' new, like I said. Bucky and me, that goes back to, what, '39?"

Bucky swallowed back the feeling of guilt. He hadn't done anything to feel guilty about, dammit! "Prob'ly '36, if you wanna count all the time we both spent thinking about it and being too damn yellow to speak up."

Tony let out a short bark of a laugh at that. "Well, I _am_ going to judge you for that," he said, his smirk still oddly strained. "If I'd known Cap wouldn't have punched me for it, I'd have made a move on him ages ago."

Steve's hand flinched on Bucky's, but he didn't respond.

"Tony," Banner said, so soft Bucky could barely hear it.

Natasha put a hand on Tony's arm, but he shrugged it off. "Yeah, okay, joke in poor taste," he said. "No need to lecture me from both sides."

Natasha's head cocked slightly, and then she said, "Didn't you say you had a suggestion for improving the durability of my bites?"

Tony shoveled a last bite of fruit into his mouth and nodded. "Yep. Come on down to the workshop with me and we'll pull up the specs."

He stopped at the door to the elevator and spun around, snapping his fingers and pointing at Bucky. "Clint was talking to me last night about making an arm for you," he said. "Pretty sure I can do it, but I'll need some measurements. Come down later. JARVIS will let you in."

"You don't--" Bucky swallowed and nodded. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Tony."

Tony smiled again, and it was nearly genuine this time. "Haven't managed it yet," he said. "Don't thank me until it's working."

***

By the time they'd finished breakfast, Bucky and Steve were the last ones at the table. Steve stretched, and then carried his dishes into the kitchen. Bucky followed his example quietly, his thoughts whirling.

"You okay?" Steve asked.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, sure."

Steve raised his eyebrows, and Bucky shrugged. "Guess I was expecting more of a reaction, or maybe less. Or... I dunno." He hesitated, then said, "Is Tony okay?"

Steve snorted. "I'm never really sure, with Tony."

Bucky bit his lip, wondering if he should let on that he knew how Steve had felt -- still felt, maybe -- about Tony. But maybe he should give it a day or two, first, to let things settle. He tried to talk a little more as they cleaned up the dishes and Steve gave him the quick-and-dirty rundown on how to operate some of the tech in the kitchen.

Microwave ovens were _cool_ , just like something out of a sci-fi pulp. From frozen to piping hot in less than five minutes.

When they were done, Steve brushed his lips across Bucky's forehead and said, "I'm gonna run back to my room and put on some clean clothes. You okay for a bit?"

"Sure," Bucky agreed. There was a bookcase in the big common room that maybe was just for show, but Bucky was curious. He'd barely started perusing the titles, however, when Clint appeared, as suddenly as if he'd materialized out of thin air. Bucky only just managed not to jump.

"Hey, man," Clint said.

"Hey," Bucky said, and waited, because it looked like Clint was getting ready to say something. Bucky wondered if Clint disapproved of him and Steve and just hadn't wanted to say so in front of the others. He hoped not. He'd liked Clint, so far.

"Uh," Clint said. He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. "That stuff I said, yesterday? About Steve and, um, Tony?"

Bucky took a breath, bracing, though he wasn't certain why. "Yeah?"

"I wasn't trying to be a dick," Clint said. "I didn't know."

"I know that," Bucky said. "Steve and me, we weren't-- It's not the kind of thing you just talk about, you know? I mean, it didn't used to be."

Clint nodded. "Yeah, I get that. I just wanted to make sure we were good. I kinda have this habit of putting my foot in it without even trying."

Bucky grinned and clapped Clint on the shoulder. "Trust me, if we weren't good, you'd've heard about it before now."

Clint smiled, relieved. "Good. I'd invite you back down to the range with me, but if Tony's gonna build you an arm, probably not much point, huh?"

"Yeah, probably not. You think he really will?"

Clint snorted. "He's a big faker. _Clint was talking to me_ , he says, as if I had to get more than three words out of my damn mouth before he started drawing schematics. He's so desperate to build that arm, he'd probably blow you for the privilege." Clint paused, eyes widening fractionally, and then put his hand on the bridge of his nose as if he'd just given himself a headache. "God _damn_ it."

Bucky just laughed, and ignored the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

***

It was afternoon by the time Bucky made his way down to Tony's workshop, having left Steve with Natasha, who had come to confer about some brewing situation that was probably way above Bucky's clearance level.

And Christ, Bucky had thought the _microwave_ was like a sci-fi magazine brought to life. Walking into Tony's workshop was like walking into a whole movie, only better. "Hoooooo-ly," he whistled, half-afraid to let the door close behind him.

Tony was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by glowing blue lights. He looked up and grinned. "I never get tired of those first impressions," he confessed. "Say _It's bigger on the inside._ "

Bucky frowned at him in confusion. "Why would I say that?"

"Never mind, we'll get you caught up on pop culture later." Tony made several large gestures, and the images in the air around him shifted and whirled, too fast for Bucky to track. "JARVIS, pull up the schematic for Barnes' arm that we've got so far."

The diagram that hung in the air did, in fact, look like some kind of robot arm. Tony stood up and beckoned impatiently until Bucky came close enough for Tony to grab his shoulder and pull him into position. "Okay, good, great," Tony said. He tapped his fingers on his chest, staring at Bucky's torso thoughtfully, like it was an engine block he was going to take apart. "Okay. Take off the shirt."

"What?"

Tony's eyes flashed up to Bucky's face, almost bewildered, and then his gaze sharpened. "Measurements, I need some measurements. I said that earlier, I'm almost certain. JARVIS, I did say that out loud, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay," Tony said, looking weirdly relieved. "Out loud, I said it, I need measurements. Shirt off, Barnes, c'mon, c'mon. I promise I'm not trying to muscle in on Cap's territory."

Bucky half-smiled -- this super-focused and abstracted Tony was the Tony he'd known in France, and Bucky felt oddly reassured by it, though having that focus on _him_ was a mildly disconcerting change. "Yeah, okay, keep your pants on."

"Said I _wasn't_ making a move," Tony pointed out, grinning. "Like I could compete with that anyway."

Bucky shot Tony a look as he worked the shirt off his shoulders. It wasn't like Tony wasn't a good-looking guy. "You're selling yourself short," he said mildly.

Tony snorted his disagreement but didn't say anything. He just reached for a tool and fidgeted with it, turning it over in his hands and bouncing it against his thigh as he watched Bucky shed his shirt. At least he didn't step in and start helping like he'd done in the store. As soon as Bucky tossed the shirt onto the abandoned chair, Tony straightened, all business again. "Right, now, stand up straight -- no, not at attention, that's _too_ straight. Give me a parade rest. Okay, but let your arm hang down. Yes. Good. JARVIS, can you work with this?"

"I believe so, sir," JARVIS responded. "Mister Barnes, if you could please remain relatively still for a moment."

Bucky tried his best not to move.

"There is no need for you to hold your breath," JARVIS said.

Bucky puffed out a lungful of air and started breathing again.

"Second position now, sir," JARVIS said.

Tony lifted his arms over his head to demonstrate for Bucky, who tried to copy him. The stump's movement was a little stiff.

"Hm. Need a little physical therapy for that," Tony mused. "You'll need those muscles in full functioning order. Clint or Natasha could put a routine together for it, with Bruce's advice. Any preference who you'd rather work with?"

"Uh, not really?"

"Alternating, maybe," Tony said. "They're both better teachers than you'd think. Like this, now." He moved his arms out to his sides, and Bucky copied him.

"They teach you?" Bucky asked, remembering Tony's lithe grace in the face of half-a-dozen Hydra agents.

"Sparring practice every Monday and Thursday afternoon, emergency calls notwithstanding," Tony agreed. "I do occasionally get caught out without the suit. I bitch about it a lot, but it's come in handy more often than I'd like to admit. I'm probably getting rusty; I didn't practice at all in France."

"Alternating's fine, then," Bucky said.

Tony nodded. "Okay, you can drop 'em. J, bring the model over here."

The floating blue diagram slid through the air and fitted itself against Bucky's shoulder. He half-expected to feel something -- warmth, or a crackle of electricity -- but there was nothing. Tony reached out, then hesitated, fingertips inches from Bucky's skin. "Can I?"

Bucky felt his mouth twist, then forced it to relax. He was going to have to let someone touch it, eventually, if only to help fit the prosthetic. "Yeah, okay."

Tony's hands were dry and warm, impersonal as he slid the glowing picture against Bucky's shoulder as carefully and delicately as if it were more than simply light. "The arm will be heavy," he said. "I'm looking into some alternative materials, but that will take a while. In the meantime, for the full range of motion and support, this is going to be a sleeve that fits over the remainder of your arm and rests on top of your shoulder, like this."

"Looks like Peggy's arm," Bucky observed.

Tony nodded. "That's the inspiration. We can cover yours with a synthetic skin or paint it or something, once we've got it working. Whatever you want."

"I'll think about it," Bucky said.

"Right, okay. Hold still for a moment." Tony picked up a tube and a handful of what looked like suction cups.

"What's that?" Bucky asked, trying not to sound too alarmed. He wasn't sure how successful he was.

Tony didn't seem disturbed by the reaction. He offered one of the little plastic cups to Bucky to hold. "Electrode," he said. "More readings and measurements. They just sit on your skin. I promise it won't hurt. The goo will feel cold, though."

"Goo?"

"Helps get a good seal," Tony said, waving the tube. He squeezed out a dime-sized blob of clear blue and dabbed it on the front of Bucky's shoulder. As warned, it was cold, but it warmed fairly quickly. (It felt like the sex-slick Steve had used the previous night, actually, but Bucky tried not to think about that. The last thing Bucky needed was to sprout wood while Tony had his hands all over Bucky's skin.) Tony fitted a suction cup on the goo and attached a wire to it, then flashed Bucky a grin. "Okay? They come off just as easy. I just need these readings to build the neural interface."

The electrodes went around both of Bucky's shoulders, and two more went on his temples. Then Tony had him perform a series of movements, first with his good arm and hand, then with both arms together, then with just the left arm, as well as it could manage. Then he'd do it again, and the ghost-image of the arm floating in the air would move as well. When the image-arm's movement was clunky or unnatural, Tony would jabber sci-fi talk with JARVIS, and they'd repeat the exercise until the image was moving as easily as Bucky's own good arm.

It was utterly fascinating, but weirdly tiring for the slight effort required.

Finally, Tony pulled off the electrodes -- as promised, they slid right off with no fuss -- and found a towel to wipe the goo off Bucky's shoulders. When Bucky had finished wiping off his face, Tony tossed his shirt to him. "Okay, get dressed, I'm done fondling you for now. They're probably about ready to have dinner upstairs."

Bucky looked at the clock on the wall and startled at the time. "Wow, yeah." He pulled the shirt back on and headed for the door, pausing when Tony made no move to follow. "You coming?"

"Nah," Tony said, "I'm right in the middle of this. I'll grab something later."

In France, no matter how deep into his work Tony had been, he'd always stopped when Bucky had told him that dinner was ready. Bucky wondered at the change -- or maybe France had been the change? -- but ultimately, it was none of his business. "Okay. See you later, then."

"Later, Barnes. Give Cap a kiss for me." Bucky glanced back sharply, but Tony just grinned and waved.


	20. Pink Slime and Rooftop Reunions

The new arm had taken Tony a little less than a week to build, but Bucky had been wearing it for four days now, and he still had trouble using it. After some hesitation, he headed down to the lab to find out if he was doing something wrong, or if the arm was messed up somehow.

"I told you it would take a while to learn," Tony said, but he gamely put Bucky on a stool in the middle of the shop and had him start running the training exercises while he ran a diagnostic.

Which was, of course, when the alarm sounded.

Bucky had watched some newsreels of the Avengers in action, but this was the first alert he'd really been present for. The diagnostic screens flipped away to reveal what Bucky easily identified as a situation map, only better, because when Tony tapped on the hostile marker, it expanded to show details that Bucky's old sitmaps never had.

"Tony?" Steve's voice floated in via JARVIS. Bucky could hear a little roughness to it that was probably Steve already in motion, running to get his uniform and grab his shield. "What's the sitch?"

"Some kind of extraterrestrial," Tony said. He wasn't running, but he wasn't strolling, either. He stepped into a contraption at the far side of the workshop, and it began assembling the armor around him. "Nothing I've got records of us seeing before," he continued, ignoring the robots around him, letting them compensate for his movements as he flipped through the screens. "The early reports don't show any markers for intelligence, so you can put the talking heads and politicos on alert, but so far it's just a stop-and-mop. Doesn't look that big; no need to recall Thor from his thing in Tanzania and we can probably just keep Bruce on standby."

"Got it," Steve acknowledged. "Is Bucky still with you?"

"I'm here," Bucky said. "Still no use to you, though."

"You almost spilled your coffee in my lap this morning, so you weren't going to be cleared for field yet anyway," Steve said with an audible smile, "but I think we can still get some use out of you. Tony, can you give him a comm and access to on-site cameras? He can help keep an eye out."

"Sure thing, Cap." Bucky had seen the armor in action before, of course, but he wasn't sure he'd ever actually get used to it. It was impressive as hell. He watched as Tony strode across the workshop and plucked up an earpiece from a table -- it should have been impossible for those metal gauntlets to handle something so small and delicate, but Tony wasn't even paying that much attention.

Bucky's new left hand, on the other hand, had a tendency to crush everything he picked up with it, even if he was focusing carefully. He sighed as he took the device from Tony and fitted it in his ear. He and Steve had practiced with that enough, at least, that using it was beginning to feel natural. "On comm," Bucky announced.

"Hey, Buckaroo!" Clint said in Bucky's ear. "Are you alien-busting with us?"

"Just watching, I think." A half-dozen or so more screens snapped into life around the sitmap, their pictures varying in quality.

"Still pretty exciting!" Clint said, half-covering Natasha's quiet check-in.

"C'mon, cut the chatter," Steve said. "We're not even out the door yet. Speaking of which, Tony, where are we going?"

"About six blocks south of us," Tony said. "I don't like that they're this close. Let's be on the look for any indication that they were deliberately placed."

"Agreed," Steve said. "But at least that makes transport a lot easier. Tony, grab Clint off the roof; Sam, you've got Nat. I'll just jog." There was a grin in his voice as he said that, and Sam chuckled an "asshole" into the comms.

The screens around Bucky fluttered into life as Tony left the room. They were mostly traffic cameras and security feeds that Tony had tapped into, so the picture quality wasn't that great, but Bucky was getting his first look at a real live space alien -- aside from Thor, but Thor just looked mostly like a big human. This thing looked kind of like someone had dropped orange slime on a praying mantis and then had a really bad nightmare about it wandering around in front of a funhouse mirror, and just looking at it made Bucky feel weird and off-center. It seemed to be trying to eat a building.

Then Tony and Clint arrived on the scene and two new windows slid open, showing the feeds from Tony's helmet and Clint's glasses.

Tony's view was dizzying; he wasn't fond of hovering in a stationary position -- which was tactically sound, but Bucky's inner ear protested the contradicting inputs. Clint's view was much more stable, but overlaid with targeting calculations and wind shear and potential obstacles and other information that Bucky couldn't even make sense of. "Clint, is the feed I'm seeing really what you get? All these, uh, graphs and numbers and stuff?"

Clint laughed loud enough to make the comm hiss with static. "Yep. If it's distracting for you, JARVIS can probably filter it out on your end."

Sam's window opened then, nearly as swoopy as Tony's, showing Natasha dropping most of two stories to the ground and rolling to her feet. No window opened for her or Steve, but Bucky had plenty to work with already.

"All right," Steve said, his voice firm in command, and began rattling out strategy and positions.

It felt a little like being back in the war, hearing that voice, and Bucky's skin rippled with goosebumps. The Avengers took the transformation from Steve to Captain America in stride, though. Bucky got to watch as Clint took a flying leap onto the next building for a better angle. Through Sam's goggles, Bucky watched Tony lining up for a strafing dive. Steve was a barely-visible blue dot on the ground, and Natasha was... not in any of the screens, but she reported back her _aye_ when Steve gave her orders, so Bucky wasn't too worried.

"Bucky, Clint's gonna be focused on the actual fight, so you can take some of the pressure off him if you'll keep an eye out for outside disturbances. Civilians wandering into the fight zone, other hostiles, that sort of thing. Report straight into the open line for now."

"You got it, Cap." He was better at narrow focus than overviews, but then, he didn't expect they were actually relying on him. Bucky scooped up the steel-spring contraption Tony had given him to practice dexterity on the false arm with, and took several steps back so he could watch all the screens at one time. "JARVIS, can you scrub out all the extra junk on Tony and Clint's displays for me, please?"

"It would be my pleasure," JARVIS said. The displays flickered and reformed to show the pure incoming images. "I can also stabilize Mr. Stark's display to a certain degree," JARVIS offered, "and attempt to maintain a level horizon, if that would help?"

"God, yes, thanks. You're a godsend, JARVIS."

"It's so nice to be appreciated, Mister Barnes," JARVIS said. "One so rarely is."

"I heard that," Tony complained.

"Oh, did I accidentally broadcast that on the open band, sir?" JARVIS said, all polite British concern that Bucky knew by now was a cover for the AI's desert-dry, razor-sharp wit. Bucky grinned.

Tony didn't respond, because now he was well into his strafing run. Sam followed close behind, peeling off in the opposite direction when the alien thing's face (?) turned toward them. Clint shot a couple of different arrows at it, testing its hide and apparent weak points. Bucky wasn't sure where Natasha was, still, but he spotted Steve on the far side of the building, hurrying a thin stream of civilians along in the opposite direction.

"Jesus fuck, it's got reflexes like lightning," Clint said. He shot out three arrows at once, and the alien swiped two of them from the air impatiently, apparently not even looking, its face (?) following Tony's erratic motion. The third arrow exploded on contact, and the creature let out a noise that was, Bucky assumed, an expression of pain. "Not too heavily armored, though," Clint added.

"Focus on finding us a weak spot to target," Steve said. "The building is clear; Tony and Sam, keep its attention focused upward while I try to get in underneath and see if it's got a soft underbelly."

"Better you than me, Cap," Tony quipped. He banked left and launched another micro-missile. Before he could roll away, the alien spit a glob of pink slime, completely engulfing him. The Iron Man suit began to falter and drop, as if the slime was heavier than the suit could manage. That wasn't a comforting thought; Bucky had seen the suit manage an awful lot.

"Tony!" Bucky called, just as Clint spat out a curse. "Tony, can you read? Are you okay?"

"What's happened?" Steve demanded, his voice tight. "Sitrep, Buck!"

"It hocked a loogey on Tony," Bucky snapped. "I can't tell if--" The Iron Man suit stuttered again, then limped toward a roof, where it landed heavily. "He's out of the sky. JARVIS, what's going on in there?"

"I'm sorry, Mister Barnes," JARVIS said, "but the substance appears to be preventing my signal from reaching the suit's communications network. Exterior surveillance indicates the substance is highly corrosive."

"Dammit."

Tony was moving. He waved his arms, and Clint's monitor turned to focus on him. "Cap, he's signaling," Clint reported. Tony was making large gestures in some kind of code Bucky couldn't read, but apparently Clint could, even if he sounded surprised about it. "When did Tony learn AS-- He says he's okay for now, but he's lost comms and some functionality."

"Tell him to get back to safety, then," Steve said firmly. On Sam's monitor, Bucky could see Clint making similar gestures back across the rooftops to Tony. "We'll handle this. Natasha, are you in position?"

"Almost." Her voice echoed over the comms slightly, as if she was underground, but then Bucky caught a glimpse in Sam's wheeling display of her dashing across the roof across from Tony's.

Tony, having gotten Clint's message, took to the sky again. His flight was slow and stammering, but all too soon he was out of range of the other Avengers' cameras.

"Bucky," Steve said, grunting as he flung the shield, "ask JARVIS to keep an eye on Tony and make sure he makes it back to the Tower safely."

"I thought JARVIS was patched into the comms."

"Through Tony's suit network," Steve said tersely, "which you might have noticed is out of our reach right now."

Bucky rocked back on his heels, lips pursing in surprise. Steve was _never_ this snappy and irritable when he was in the thick of a fight; he usually saved it all up for afterward. The only other time Bucky could call to mind, in fact, was that one time in Switzerland when Bucky'd gotten tagged by a stray bullet and Steve had just about ripped Dugan a--

Oh. _Oh_.

Oh, _hell_. That was more than just a crush Steve was nursing on Tony, wasn't it? It was something bigger. Something not easily forgotten.

Son of a bitch.

Bucky took a deep breath -- he could compartmentalize, too -- and relayed Steve's request to JARVIS.

"Please assure Captain Rogers that I will of course monitor Mr. Stark's progress and safety, and keep you informed."

Bucky was about to ask something else when, on one side of Clint's monitor, he saw Natasha jump to the roof Tony had just vacated. It was a pretty big leap, and she landed and started running again without so much as a hesitation. Bucky was about to whistle in appreciation of her skill and strength when he realized two things: first, she was running _away_ from the fight; and second, her hair was brown, not red.

That wasn't Natasha.

"Dammit," he swore. "Steve! I've got eyes on the Winter Soldier!"

"Just what we needed," Steve sighed. "Well, thank heaven for small miracles; the alien's probably keeping me out of her line of sight. Where is she, and who's she gunning for today?"

"Looks like she's taking off after Tony, actually."

"Shit!" Steve cursed. "Okay, I'm-- No." Bucky could actually hear the deep draw of his breath. "Clint, can you make you way back from here in time? She always bugs out quick when she spots you, and I don't have the bandwidth right now to actually go toe-to-toe with her, so we'll have to take a scare-off."

"I'm on it," Clint promised. His display turned until it was looking at the Tower. Bucky thought at first that he was hesitating, and then realized that he was calculating his route. He saw Clint draw an arrow with a strangely-notched tip and fire it at the next building over. It trailed a line. "Bucky, tell JARV I'm coming in via the Spider-Man route and to have an elevator waiting for me on the... probably the forty-first floor."

"They don't put the numbers on the outside, you know," Sam remarked as Bucky was relaying the information to JARVIS.

"We _said_ we were sorry," Natasha responded. It sounded like banter, the caress of a long-held and cherished argument. "I'm in position, Steve, and ready to go on your mark. Also, there's a device down here that I think Tony should probably see."

"You can't figure it?"

"He's somewhat smarter than me."

"Right. Do what you think best, but I need that explosion in the next two minutes."

"You got it, Cap. Two minutes... _mark_. Keep it pinned down."

The alien was fast, but didn't seem inclined to walk away -- Bucky wondered if it was pinned somehow, but none of the cameras had good angles of its legs. He bit his lip, wanting to go to the roof himself to help cover Tony, because there was no way Clint was going to arrive before the Winter Soldier.

He had a job to do. Clint wasn't providing recon anymore, and Steve was counting on him. And if he screwed this up, it would be a long damn time before anyone trusted him with another job.

Bucky bit his lip harder, tasting blood. "JARVIS, how fast is that goop eating through Tony's armor?"

"He should reach his destination safely," JARVIS estimated, "but will need to divest himself of the suit not more than thirty seconds after landing if the current rate of erosion continues."

"Does he know that?"

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that with certainty," JARVIS replied, "but the suit's internal diagnostics are quite sophisticated."

Bucky took a breath. "Okay. Just. Keep an eye on things."

"Always," JARVIS promised.

"...Can I get a view of the landing gantry?" Bucky asked.

"Of course. I've taken the liberty of supplying you with a wide-view image that will narrow when his precise landing point becomes known." Bucky was pretty sure he was imagining JARVIS' relieved tone.

Bucky divided his attention between the two sets of screens, his leg jittering nervously.

Tony landed another fifteen seconds later, and to Bucky's relief, immediately yanked off the helmet and began shucking armor. The metal was blackened and pitted and smoking under the pink goo, and the way Tony's nose wrinkled made Bucky certain the smell was acrid.

Under the suit, however, Tony was blessedly untouched, still wearing the slacks and shirt and tie he'd been in before the alert had sounded. He stepped very carefully out of the boots and away from the puddles of pink goo.

Bucky double-checked the alien's status. It had tipped up on end a little, and seemed to be trying to roll onto its side. Bucky relayed the change in position to Steve, then looked back at Tony just in time to see the Winter Soldier land on the ledge.

Tony, preoccupied with the remains of his suit, didn't see her.

"Shit, _shit_ , Clint!" Bucky snapped. "Clint, she's here and Tony's totally unprotected, he's out of the suit and--"

"Why the _fuck_ is he out of the suit?" Steve interrupted. Bucky ignored him.

"Clint, you have to hurry, _please_!" Bucky's heart was pounding. Peggy had been a formidable woman, but she'd never been this cold, this careful. She moved carefully, getting into position for a clean shot.

"As fast as I can," Clint promised, out of breath and rough. "Tell me where she -- nevermind, I have eyes on her now. I just need ten seconds!"

Ten seconds was _forever_ ; Tony was going to be _dead_ in ten seconds, his genius brains spilled into the smoking ruin of his armor. He hadn't even noticed her yet. Bucky's feet were glued to the floor; there was no time for him to get to the roof, either.

"JARVIS--" Bucky said, and then stopped; if JARVIS said anything, if he startled Peggy, then she'd take the inferior shot immediately, and Bucky could see well enough to know that she could do permanent damage from right where she was, even if she couldn't be certain of a kill shot.

"Bucky, what the hell is--" Steve's question was interrupted by a loud explosion, but Bucky couldn't drag his eyes away from the view of Tony and Peggy to check on the alien.

Tony finally straightened and turned.

Saw Peggy. Even on the monitors, Bucky could see Tony grow pale, his eyes widening. He held up his hands, casual, palm-out, not quite the gesture of surrender, but close to it. He said something that Bucky couldn't read. Peggy lifted her gun, took aim, and Bucky's sniper training traced the path of that aim to a spot right between Tony's eyes. Her finger curled around the trigger--

\--and stopped. She stared at him. Her eyes were unblinking and cold, but she didn't fire.

Bucky's stomach turned over. _Clint_ , he thought desperately, _hurry!_ but there wasn't enough moisture in his mouth to even whisper the words.

Slowly, Peggy's eyebrows lifted, her brow wrinkling slightly. Her mouth opened, formed a word.

Tony hitched in a breath like he might respond. An arrow arced up over the edge of the building and impacted on the barrel of the gun, knocking it to the side. There was a burst of muzzle flash as it went off -- too late -- and then Peggy was running, flinging herself off the side of the Tower and away from the source of that arrow.

Another arrow sailed after her, regardless, but it flew heavy and ungainly. When it unfolded into a net, she evaded its snare easily, and then was gone.


	21. So That Happened

Tony didn't seem inclined to come in from the landing pad, so with the alien fight done, Bucky pulled the comm out of his ear, dropped it on the table, and headed up and out himself. He arrived at the same time as Clint, though Clint had apparently decided not to bother coming indoors at all, instead climbing hand-over-hand up the line of a grappling arrow.

"How many of those damn things do you have?" Tony was saying as Bucky pushed through the door, clasping Clint's wrists to pull him over the edge of the platform.

"That was my last one," Clint said, not nearly as out of breath as a man ought to be after swinging across six blocks like some kind of urban Tarzan and then climbing a rope up at least eight stories. "I expect you'll make me some more soon, since I just saved your ass."

Tony snorted. "You didn't save it, _she_ did. Or did you not notice the distinct lack of shooting going on until you fired at her?"

"I'm with Clint on this one," Bucky put in. "Something gave her pause, but she'd have gotten back on-mission soon enough."

" _I_ gave her pause," Tony insisted. "Weren't you listening, Barnes?"

"No, your comms were down, remember?"

Tony grumbled. "She thought I was my dad."

"What?" Clint said. "Did you just say she thought you were _Howard_?"

Tony nodded, not looking terribly happy about it. "That's what she said, when she stopped. She was pointing her gun at me, and I said something like, 'You don't want to shoot me, Peggy,' and then she stopped and said 'You're dead, Howard.'"

"Huh," Bucky said, scratching at his neck. "I wonder if she'd--"

" _What the damn hell were you thinking, Tony?_ " Steve demanded as he burst through the door, half-covered in orange alien slime. "Why the hell did you take off your armor?"

"He didn't have much choice, Steve," Bucky put in tersely. He pointed at the still-faintly-smoking ruin of Tony's armor. "Not unless he wanted to be melted!"

"He should've at least come _inside_ first!" Steve snapped.

"And get that goop inside? Not to mention whatever fumes--"

"The Winter Soldier almost _shot him_! And thank _you_ so much for _not telling me_ what was going on, by the way," Steve hissed. "I had to rely on Clint's half-assed summary between swings--"

"Hey!" Clint protested.

"--which _stopped_ before he took his last shot, so I had to run all the way back here at top speed, praying Ton-- my team was still intact!"

Bucky had been feeling a slight bite of guilt over forgetting to keep Steve updated, but the verbal stumble was enough to let him push that aside. "You could have _asked_ ," he pointed out, acidly. "I know I fucked up, but I'm out of practice. If you'd remembered I existed--"

"Guys, hey." Tony pushed between them, a hand on each of their chests, and it wasn't until that moment that Bucky realized they had been bristling into each other's faces like a pair of stray dogs. "It's flattering that you both want to ask me to the prom, really, but you need to cool it down."

Steve's face flushed bright red as he looked at Tony, and then at Bucky. For just an instant, Bucky thought Steve might try to say something else, but then he looked at the pile of corroded metal in its heap. He took a big breath, then stepped back and walked -- stalked, really -- past both Tony and Bucky, heading back inside.

Bucky watched him go, a feeling like lead weighing him down. What the hell had just happened?

***

Tony locked himself in the workshop with the device Natasha had found in the sewers, so Bucky occupied himself with helping to clean up the remains of the suit. Bruce emerged to take some samples of the pink goo, and offered to show Bucky where the incinerator was, since it was apparently on the way back to the lab.

"Heard you and Steve had a bit of a spat," Bruce said, as Bucky was carefully hoisting the twisted scraps of metal into the chute.

"Geez, it was only an hour ago, how'd you hear already?"

"Clint," Bruce said, very carefully not smiling. "Avengers gossip like old biddies playing bridge."

"Folks still play bridge in the future?"

"Mostly just old ones," Bruce conceded. "You guys okay?"

"Ain't the first time Steve and me've butted heads," Bucky said. He didn't let on that he always felt like he was balanced on a knife's blade afterward, though, always afraid that _this time_ would be the straw that broke the camel's back. Even if Steve's back was a lot wider than it used to be.

"Well, it's been a confusing couple of weeks for you, I'm sure," Bruce said kindly. "If you want my advice, you probably should talk to Tony."

Bucky grimaced. "Tony's sort of the reason we were fighting."

"I know," Bruce said. He held one of his vials of pink goo up to the light and studied it closely, though for what, Bucky had no idea. "He's probably pretty sure you're both mad at _him_ , now."

"I'm not mad at him," Bucky protested. "He just... happened to get caught in the middle." Which was true from a couple of different perspectives. "Anyway, he's okay. He's the one who got Steve and me to stand down."

Bruce clicked his teeth thoughtfully. "Tony's kind of like a cat -- he puts on a good act of being aloof and independent, but once you get to know him a bit… Well. He's still doing that thing he does with the names, so I'm pretty sure he's still smarting."

Bucky blinked. "Smarting? Names?" Bruce wasn't making much sense. "What're you talking about?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows like a teacher silently chiding a particularly slow student. "You really don't..." He huffed out something that might have been a laugh. "Well, Tony wouldn't have known to tell you, I suppose, but the rest of us had a little bit of a betting pool going on, before the whole time-travel thing, about how long it would take Steve and Tony to get together."

"It goes both ways? Tony likes Steve, too?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, apparently that Bucky had known about Steve's feelings for Tony. "At the very least, yes. But he's been calling Steve those stupid nicknames for at least a week now, and that's something he does when he's on the defensive."

Shit, _shit_. Bucky had noticed the nicknames -- Tony seemed to have a million of them ready to hand, all of them something to do with ice and sleep -- but he'd just thought they were a goofy joke. But now that he was thinking about it, Tony had been calling Bucky "Barnes" again. He winced. "So I did screw things up."

"I don't know that you need to go quite that far," Bruce said kindly. "It's not like they'd managed to get themselves sorted yet. And it's easy to see how much Steve loves you; I don't think he's pretending for your sake, or anything as awful and melodramatic as that. It is possible to--" Bruce stopped and cocked his head, studying Bucky's face. "Did you know triangles are the most stable shape for building a big structure?"

"Um." Bucky looked around to see if Bruce had suddenly started talking to someone else, but it was still just the two of them in the hallway. "What?"

Bruce smiled wryly. "Never mind. Just trust me that Tony's hurting a little, and go talk to him, okay? At the very least, what harm could it do?"

Bucky dumped the last of the scrap into the incinerator chute and sighed. "Yeah, okay. We need to finish that diagnostic on my arm, anyway."

***

The door to the workshop opened at Bucky's touch. Tony was sitting at a workbench poring over the device Natasha had brought back. "Hi," Bucky said. He felt awkward. What was he supposed to say? _Sorry I accidentally disrupted the relationship you thought you were going to have with my lover?_ He chewed on his lip, then chickened out and settled on, "Figured anything out yet?"

"Oh, a million and one things," Tony said lightly. He didn't _act_ like a man whose heart had been recently broken... Did he? "Among them, the _very_ interesting bit of information that there's a bit of my tech in here that never should have been."

"What? Why? How?"

"That covers most of the bases, yep," Tony said. He was wearing thick magnifying glasses and wielding a pair of tiny pliers. "It actually looks like one of our comm units, maybe two generations ago."

Bucky chewed that over. "Someone stole one of your comm units? Why would they do that?"

"You mean aside from copying my revolutionary design methods in order to produce cheaper knockoffs for big profit? Probably because for the last year or so, the comm units have been coded with our DNA prints so that only the Avengers and approved other personnel can use them. Which means that--"

"Wait, I'm on the approved personnel list?" Bucky asked, suddenly struck.

Tony actually looked up at him, the glasses making his eyes ridiculously huge, like some kind of cartoon egghead. "Of course," he said, blinking. "Why wouldn't you be?"

Bucky couldn't quite figure out how to articulate _because I used to be the Winter Soldier in the next timestream over and am therefore not trustworthy_ without sounding like he'd lost all his marbles, so he just shrugged. "No reason, I guess. So does that mean someone on the approved list had to activate this whatever-it-is?"

Tony took off the glasses to give Bucky a long look, his lips curved in something like satisfaction. "Excellent question," he murmured, and Bucky tried to suppress the warm kid-in-school feeling of pride at the praise. "But, alas, no, we can't narrow things down that much. They weren't using the comm chip to conduct communications, they were using its authentication bank to pinpoint the team. Well, the highest concentration of people on the approved list -- but that's nearly always going to be wherever the Avengers are. The non-Avengers on the list tend to spend their time scattered across the globe."

"Huh." Bucky scratched at his face. "So they _were_ targeting us -- I mean, the Avengers -- with that alien thing. They just missed by a few blocks. So... what does that mean?"

Tony put the glasses back on and looked back down at his work. "Well, to begin with, it means I need to have a talk with your boyfriend, because there are a very limited number of people on the planet who are technologically sophisticated enough to be able to subvert my tech like this."

Bucky nodded. "What do you need Steve to do?"

"I'm going to need him and Natasha and probably Clint to run some recon for me, fast, tonight, before they get wind of the fact that we've grabbed their gadget. You think Cap's calmed down yet from your little slap-fight earlier?"

Bucky frowned. "You're still doing it."

"Doing what?" Tony was deep back into the device and distracted again.

"Tony."

"Hm?"

" _Tony._ "

Tony looked up with a flat, irritated glare. " _What_?"

"You're calling Steve Cap. And you've been calling me Barnes."

Tony frowned. "Am I?"

"You are. You've been doing it for a while now."

"Hm. I didn't notice."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Bar-- Bucky. There. Okay? I'm fine. Everything is fine, I just have a lot of work to do here and not a lot of time to do it." Tony looked back up at Bucky and offered a slightly tight smile. "I swear I'm okay. There's just a deadline, and... Could you please go ask Steve to come down so I can talk to him about this about the recon thing?" He stressed Steve's name slightly, making a point, but Bucky was pretty sure all that meant was that Tony was forcing himself to pay attention now, where he wasn't before.

This was important, though. More important than mending hurt feelings, and Bucky had already let his personal feelings get in the way once today. He sighed and nodded. "You got it."

Steve was in his own quarters. It looked like he'd taken a shower after peeling out of his uniform; he was wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and a too-tight undershirt, one bare foot tucked under his own thigh as he typed out a mission report.

"Steve?" Bucky knocked on the door frame.

Steve glanced up at him, and his mouth thinned as he looked away. "Hey, Buck, C'mon in."

Bucky took the couple of steps needed to lean against the edge of the desk, close enough to touch. "Tony has some intel on that thing Natasha found," he said. Mission first. "He wants you to go down and jaw with him about it. He thinks you and some of the others should go check some stuff out."

"Right away, or can I take ten minutes to finish this first?"

"Ten minutes you can probably take. If it goes to half an hour he's likely to get antsy. He seemed to think there was a clock somewhere."

"Right." Steve kept typing. "Thanks for passing it along."

Unspoken went the observation that JARVIS could have carried the message faster and more easily. Bucky wondered if Tony had sent him up here so that they could make up. He didn't think Tony would tell him the truth if he asked, though.

He knew better than to expect Steve to apologize first. "I didn't mean to jump down your throat, there."

Steve slotted a look at him, typed out a few more words, and then leaned back in his chair to look up at Bucky. "Yeah. Me, either. Probably shouldn't'a jumped down Tony's throat so quick, either, I just... You probably remember even better than me, what it was like. How I get about the folks in my team."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. Steve _did_ get protective of his team, and it was a thing about him that everyone admired. "But you... maybe kinda went overboard this time. It was almost like." Bucky's throat closed, and he couldn't quite slide the words free.

Steve frowned. "Buck, I'm allowed to be worried for the people who serve under my command," he said sternly, the tone of voice he used when he was ready and willing to fight about something.

Bucky tightened his lips, trying not to say it, was not going to say it, _would not say--_ Yeah, he was going to say it. "You are, and _I'm_ allowed to be worried about the fact that you're in love with Tony," he snapped.

Steve physically recoiled, his eyes widening in shock before they narrowed in anger. He rose to his feet, taking advantage of their few inches of difference in height to loom over Bucky. "You're a fine one to talk," he retorted hotly.

Bucky just stared at him, open-mouthed. What was that supposed to mean?

Before Bucky could respond, Steve snatched a shirt off the back of the chair and stomped toward the elevator as he pulled it on. "I don't have time for this now," he growled. "I've got a meeting."

***

It was too quiet.

Bucky had more or less gotten used to the sounds of the Tower over the last couple of weeks, but being able to tune those noises out made it all too easy to listen to the endless replay in his mind of his argument -- _arguments_ , plural -- with Steve.

He hadn't seen Steve again after that last one; apparently Tony had been even more hot to trot on following up the leads on that tech than Bucky had thought. Steve, Clint, and Natasha had all departed for destinations unknown within the half-hour.

Bucky rolled over on his bed, trying to find a comfortable position.

And sure, Steve had sent Bucky's new phone a text message that meant he wasn't still angry ( _top speed priority but it'll be quick. back in two days tops. love you._ ) But he still hadn't denied Bucky's accusation about Steve's feelings for Tony, either.

Bucky turned over and punched his pillow into submission. Bucky was confused and frustrated and -- yeah, maybe a bit worried, too, replaying, over and over, the simple things Steve _hadn't_ said, and the confusing things he _had._

He needed to get to sleep. He needed to stop listening to those angry words. He needed something else to focus on.

"JARVIS?"

"How may I be of service, sir?"

"Can I have the sound from Tony's room again?"

"Mr. Stark has not instructed me to restrict your access," JARVIS answered, and if there was just the hint of disapproval in the computerized voice, well, Bucky knew he deserved it. He was just too desperate to take it back.

Tony's breathing was slightly irregular and occasionally punctuated by the slithering sound of him turning over and rearranging his sheets. Tony wasn't sleeping any better than Bucky was.

Still, the sound of another living soul was a comfort. Bucky closed his eyes and focused on it, on his own breathing, let them carry him toward darkness.

He was just tipping into the abyss of sleep when Tony made a sound like a whimper that jerked him back to wakefulness. Bucky's eyes snapped open, ears straining. More rustling of sheets, another soft moan. Was it a nightmare? God knew, after the events of the day--

_That_ wasn't a nightmare sort of moan. That was more like...

Like...

"Oh, god, yeah," Tony breathed.

_Like that._

"F-fuck, please," Tony said, and then Bucky heard the drag of skin on skin.

Bucky's face was burning so hot he was surprised he couldn't see a glow coming off his skin. He opened his mouth to tell JARVIS to turn the feed off, and then Tony _whined_ , a soft sound that crawled right down Bucky's spine and into his balls. Bucky swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, and into that silence, Tony spoke again: "S-steve. Steve, _please_."

Bucky sat bolt upright.

No, no, no. No. Steve wouldn't lie to Bucky, not about that. He wouldn't.

...Would he? Fuck, Steve had been so _angry_...

Tony made a noise like a sob, or maybe it was a bark of laughter. "Even in my fantasies, I'm the one begging," he said, slightly breathless. "Come on, then. Harder, ha- ah, _ah_!"

The clench of fear in Bucky's chest eased somewhat, but the electric heat in his balls just spread.

The scene unfolded before Bucky's imagination: Tony laid back on his pillows, one hand wrapped around his cock. Legs spread, maybe, making room for his imagined lover.

Tony let out a thready whine that trailed off into a hiss. "More," he insisted, "deeper, Steve, come on." Fuck, was Tony fingering himself, thinking of Steve?

Bucky's cock throbbed and swelled. Bucky bit his lip, let his eyes fall closed, letting himself into Tony's fantasy. Steve's big hand on the back of Tony's thigh, pushing it back. Two fingers of the other hand pushing deep into Tony's body, the wet noise of the slick barely audible over the harsh drag of breath. "More," Tony begged, "god, _yes_ , like that."

Three fingers now, then, those blue eyes wide and dark, full of lust, watching each little reaction hungrily. Steve would whisper encouragement and praise, would want Tony to know how beautiful he was, would want Tony to understand how much Steve enjoyed Tony's pleasure. (Tony didn't know that, though, didn't know the sounds of Steve's lovemaking, and an involuntary whimper slid from Bucky's throat.)

"Like that, yes, yes, god, I need..."

He should turn the feed off, should tell JARVIS to turn it off, Tony had never meant for Bucky to hear _this_. Tony had forgotten about Bucky's access to the feed, or not known that Bucky was using it. This was not anything Bucky should be listening to. But he was helplessly caught in its grip. He knew he should turn it off, but he couldn't.

Wouldn't. Whatever that made him.

Bucky clenched his hands into fists, squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, but he couldn't block out the image in his head of Steve's hands, Steve's _mouth_ on Tony's skin. Couldn't deny the way that thought lit his nerves on fire.

"Please," Tony gasped, "please, yes, yes, more, harder, deeper, dee-uh- _uhn_ , yes. Yes, god, god, touch me, please."

Bucky's cock, untouched, was leaking with each aching throb. Bucky bit his lip harder, worried at it, praying the pain would help ground him. He refused to touch himself, but he still might never be able to look Tony in the eye again.

"Steve, yes," Tony said, panting. "Yes, _yes_ , like that, like that, god. God. Touch me, touch me, please, Bucky, _please_."

Bucky's whole body jolted with shock, his eyes suddenly stretching wide and his mouth falling open. He hadn't heard that correctly. He couldn't have.

Of course he had.

Well, it was a mistake, was all. Tony hadn't meant--

" _Yes_ ," Tony said. "Yes, yes, yes, Bucky, god, _god_ , please, more, faster, fas-- Ah, oh, _oh_ , ffff--" His voice spiraled upward, lost all coherence, and then went utterly quiet, even his breath held as he climaxed.

There was a soft thump of collapse, then, and heavy panting. Bucky couldn't move, could only sit, frozen, literally dizzy with the implications as he listened to Tony's breathing returning to normal, the quiet sounds of Tony cleaning up and settling back down. "God, I'm pathetic," Tony sighed sleepily, heart-breakingly matter-of-fact, as if he was talking to one of his robots. "As if just _one_ of them wasn't impossible enough already?" A few minutes later, though, Tony was asleep, breathing soft and even.

Bucky made himself lay back down, but he suspected he wasn't going to sleep at all.


	22. Owning Up

"Hey, Buck."

Bucky looked up from his survey of the city with a start. "Steve. You're back already?" Steve was still in his Captain America costume, but he seemed to have left the shield somewhere.

"Yeah, Clint found the guy we were after early this morning, so Nat and I were recalled. Just got back. I think Nat's interrogating him now."

"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel sorry for him or envious," Bucky said.

Steve smiled and came up next to Bucky to lean against the balcony railing, not quite touching Bucky's arm, looking out over the buildings and bustling streets. "I remember being overwhelmed by how different everything was," he said.

Bucky shrugged. "I guess. Sometimes it seems that I'm the one who's different."

Steve looked at Bucky for a moment. Bucky managed not to squirm under that gaze, but he couldn't meet Steve's eyes, either. He watched the distant line of cars inching their way through the streets instead. "You look like you didn't sleep so well last night," Steve said.

"You're not the only one who worries," Bucky said pointedly, then shook his head and offered an olive branch. "I was watching the footage of Peggy reacting to Tony, and I have an idea of something to try, if we can lure her back somehow. You might not like it, though." It had come to him in the darkest, early hours, when he'd been struggling to force his thoughts away from the tangle of his feelings about Tony and Steve.

"Might not," Steve allowed. "I'd still like to hear it, though. Even if it's one of your usual hare-brained notions, there might be a kernel of usefulness to it." He was smiling faintly, teasing.

" _My_ usual--" Bucky snorted and bumped his shoulder into Steve's, allowing the tease. "Jerk."

As if that simple touch had released him from some invisible restraint, Steve put his arm around Bucky's shoulders and drew him into a hug. "Punk."

Bucky put his arm around Steve, and with only a little extra concentration, made the metal arm encircle Steve's waist as well. He pressed his forehead into the hollow of Steve's shoulder with a sigh. He could almost wish they were back in the war. That had been... Not _simpler_ , exactly, but at least Bucky had understood all the rules, then.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Can we go up to your room?" Bucky asked, quickly, before he could talk himself out of it. "There's some stuff we should probably talk over."

Steve flinched hard enough for Bucky to feel. "Buck, I know I said--"

"Not that," Bucky interrupted. "I mean, not _just_ that, that's part of it, but there's..." He paused, swallowed hard. "I might've done something dumb. I just. Your room, first? Please?" Bucky hoped Steve wouldn't ask to go to Bucky's room instead, which was closer. Bucky's room still echoed with Tony's unwitting declarations. He was grateful that Tony had spent most of the day in the workshop, because he wasn't certain he'd be able to look at Tony without blushing for a while.

Steve's hand wrapped around the back of Bucky's neck, tugged just hard enough to get Bucky to look up at him. Steve searched Bucky's face, his own expression hesitant.

Bucky leaned in to kiss him -- only a chaste brush of lips, but it seemed to reassure Steve. "Okay," Steve agreed, and Bucky all but sighed in relief. Steve pulled away to lead the way back inside. "I need to change out of the armor, anyway."

"Is that what we're calling the costume, now?" Bucky asked, trying to keep it light while they moved through the common area. "Armor?"

"It _is_ armor," Steve protested. "Reinforced titanium mesh, fire-retardant fibers, flexisteel plating, reinforced joints, the works. It weighs a ton."

"Steve, you can lift a car without straining."

"Doesn't mean I want to carry one around with me everywhere. Not that I'm not grateful for the armor when we're in a situation, obviously; it's saved my skin a dozen times over. But if it's not needed, I'm happier out of it."

Bucky almost made a suggestive joke about getting Steve out of his armor, but that would probably lead to sex, and Bucky really, _really_ needed this conversation to happen before he lost his nerve. So he punched the elevator button for Steve's floor and leaned against the wall, watching from the corner of his eye. "Tony made it, yeah?"

"He makes almost all the gear we use," Steve agreed. "Didn't he tell you that?"

"I guess. I just didn't realize how extensive it all was." Bucky reached out and ran his hand down Steve's arm, feeling the fabric of the uniform, its thickness and the way it moved. "He takes good care of you."

"Of all of us," Steve corrected. "He's not-- I don't want you to think that it's because--"

"Christ, Steve, don't be insulting," Bucky sighed. "I wasn't going to accuse you of falling for the guy just because he gave you some fancy duds. You're not that kinda guy, and neither is he. That wasn't what I meant at all."

"Okay," Steve said. "Sorry, I only-- What did you mean?"

The elevator opened and Bucky grabbed Steve's hand and pulled him out, into Steve's little sitting room. "I meant that he was... worthy, I guess."

Steve's eyebrows pulled together into a frown. "I don't know what you--"

"Just hush up," Bucky grumbled, pushing Steve gently until he sat on one end of the long couch. Bucky sat next to him, though he didn't lean into Steve's side like he ached to do. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped the metal arm around them carefully. "Let me say what I've gotta say, and then you can have a turn at me, all right?"

Steve bit his lip, but nodded. He kept his eyes on Bucky's face, watching expectantly.

Naturally, having secured the right to speak unimpeded, Bucky couldn't figure out where to begin. He thought of the double-dozen times he'd tried to craft this conversation in his head during the long night before, but none of those seemed appropriate now.

Steve kept waiting, and that was half a miracle, right there. Bucky knew he had to say something soon or he was going to lose all his nerve. "So you're in love with Tony," he said, working hard to keep his tone neutral. "I said it before, and you didn't deny it, which I have to think you would've, if it wasn't true."

"Buck, it doesn't--"

"Shut _up_ , Steve," Bucky groaned, dropping his forehead to his knees. "Hard enough to get my thoughts in order as it is... I'm not mad. You thought I was dead, you mourned, and you started to come back from that. That's _life_ , Steve. That's how life is _supposed_ to go. I ain't mad that you fell in love again after I was gone. I already told you that before, even if I didn't know who it was, then. And Tony's... He's a good guy. He cares a lot and he takes care of people and he keeps you on your toes, and he don't put up with your horse hockey. If there was gonna be a guy after me, then Tony's a worthy choice, I think."

Bucky risked a glance. Steve was still frowning and his mouth was twisted -- probably biting back some kind of comment or argument. Bucky was grateful that Steve was trying to shut up and listen, trusting that Bucky would lead him through the confusion.

"Did you know--" Bucky couldn't help a faint smirk, because of _course_ Steve didn't know. "Tony's in love with you, too."

Steve puffed out a snort of disbelief as he rolled his eyes.

"He is," Bucky insisted. "Clint and Bruce both told me things that didn't make a lot of sense at the time, not until I realized... Well. Don't know how long he's carried a torch for you, but as near as I can understand it, it's been months now, at least, maybe longer, where he'd have gone with you any time you cared to ask."

Steve's ears were bright red, but his jaw was set stubbornly. "That doesn't matter now, Buck. I'm not going to just walk away from--"

"It matters," Bucky said firmly. "I'm not done, so shut your yap." He looked away from Steve then, feeling heat climb his own neck. "Got my own proof of it, too. I, uh, I might've accidentally overheard Tony, um, jerking off."

"You heard him-- _Christ_." Bucky didn't look, but Steve was practically radiating heat. "How did you--"

Bucky's flush climbed higher. "There was a thing where I needed to, uh. Sounds stupid. Doesn't really matter. Point is, he didn't know I was listening, and for a second there, I actually thought you were with him."

Steve drew a swift breath. "Buck, I would _never_ \--"

"I know, I _know_. It was only for a second, okay? I was just caught by surprise when he started saying your name."

Steve twitched, startled, and then went still. "Maybe you misheard."

"Not a chance," Bucky countered. He looked at Steve then, and had to smile at the wide eyes and furious blush. "Guy wants you pretty bad."

Steve swallowed and looked like he was getting ready to argue. Bucky shook his head. "He does. And by all rights, I should've gotten mad about it, at least a little. I love you so much it hurts. It about destroyed me, when I figured you were gonna dump me for Peggy; I know you remember _that_ damn fight. But..." Bucky made himself meet Steve's eyes, holding that clear blue gaze so Steve would understand the truth he was telling, even if it was hard to say. "When I imagined you and Tony together -- and I couldn't _not_ , Stevie; he was painting a pretty clear picture, the guy's a hell of a talker -- when I pictured it, all I could think was, was, _damn_ , but I'd love to see that for real." Bucky gulped in air that didn't seem to contain enough oxygen. "And then right at the end, he, he said..."

Bucky's cheeks were aching with the force of his own blush, and he couldn't spit it out, so he changed direction. "You didn't deny it, when I said you were in love with the man, and I expect you would've, if it hadn't been true. But then you turned it back on me. And... I didn't deny it either, did I?"

Steve frowned at that, tipping his head slightly. "No, you didn't, did you?" Steve lifted a hand, reaching slow, as if he thought Bucky might push him away. He brushed his thumb across Bucky's cheek. "You started-- What did Tony say? At the end?"

Bucky bit his lip, and Steve's thumb gently teased the lip back out from between his teeth. "Buck?"

Bucky swallowed through a dry throat. "My name."

For a long moment, Steve stared at him, unmoving as a statue. Steve's hand was still on Bucky's cheek, and Bucky tried not to lean into it or away from it as he watched back, waiting for Steve's reaction. Trying to anticipate. Surprise, certainly. Anger, maybe. A touch of jealousy.

He wasn't expecting Steve to close his eyes for the space of one slow breath and then open them with a _smile_ , easy and almost _satisfied_. "Well, now," Steve breathed. "Guess I know what you mean about imagining things, now. I've gotta say, Buck, that's a... a heck of a mental image. Have to admit, I wouldn't mind seeing that."

One knot relaxed in Bucky's chest, fading away and leaving warmth in its wake. Steve wasn't mad. Bucky had known it wasn't an entirely rational fear, but it wouldn't have been the first time that Steve had been a bit of a hypocrite, so he didn't think it had been entirely _ir_ rational, either. Now, Bucky let himself lean against Steve's side, resting his head on that too-broad shoulder. "I don't know what to do," he admitted.

Steve grunted in understanding as his arm wrapped around Bucky's shoulders. "Well. We don't actually have to do anything," he pointed out. "I love you, and I know you love me, and there's no reason we couldn't just keep on as we've been going."

"But Tony--"

"Is a grown man," Steve said gently. "Will he be sad, if he doesn't get what he wants? Maybe. Probably. For a while. But he wouldn't try to come between us; he's already shown us that, for all that we've been too dumb to see it. And he's not the sort to pine away forever from a broken heart. He'll move on. We are not the only fish in the sea."

"We're the _best_ fish, though," Bucky sniffed indignantly, just to make Steve chuckle. The thought of Tony with someone else, though, made his stomach twist uneasily. It wasn't _jealousy_ , precisely; Bucky was all too familiar with that hot spike, and this wasn't it. This was something softer. Something wistful, almost regretful.

It was a feeling that put Bucky in mind of an evening in 1939 when he'd been watching Steve draw by lamplight, silently aching as he'd been doing for years, and coming to a realization: it was true that if he spoke up, Steve was likely to get mad and sock him in the jaw and, hell, maybe even never speak to him again. But if he _didn't_ speak up, he was gonna spend the whole rest of his sorry life wondering what might have been. And that, well, Bucky didn't think he could live with that.

Steve's ma, she'd worked with a lot of sick and dying folks, and she'd told them once, after a long and heartbreaking shift: "They never regret their failures half so much as they regret never trying." That was why she'd scraped and scrimped to send Steve to art school, why she'd encouraged all Steve's crazy schemes and dreams. And Bucky, in a way, had in that moment suddenly wondered if she'd been encouraging _him_ , too. Fear and exhilaration had fed each other until Bucky knew he couldn't keep silent any longer, not another minute.

It wasn't a _good_ feeling, precisely, but it was a feeling that Bucky associated with happiness anyway, because this feeling meant that happiness was hanging just out of Bucky's reach, and all he had to do to grab it was get _over his fear and open his big mouth_.

And Bucky had Steve already on his side, this time. Steve, who was the bravest guy Bucky'd ever known. Steve knew fear intimately, had felt its frozen grip on every part of him. Steve knew how to handle fear -- knew how to look right in its eyes and spit in his palms to make his fists tighter and dare fear to take the first swing.

(Bucky had been afraid of heights, once. It'd been Steve's idea that they go out to Coney Island and ride the coaster there until Bucky's heart stopped pounding at the top of every curve. It had seemed like a great idea until they'd been standing under the scaffolding. But before Bucky could chicken out, Steve had laced their fingers together and said, "You don't think I'm gonna make you do it by yourself, do you?" Bucky had broken down in tears on their second time around, but Steve had pretended not to notice and Bucky had locked his teeth around the suggestion that they just give up. When Steve's ma had scolded them for riding until Steve had gotten sick, Bucky had stepped in to take the blame. After that, any time Bucky found himself up too high for comfort, it was the memory of Steve's hand in his, small but warm, that he clung to.)

"What if," Bucky said slowly, "what if I didn't want that? What if... If we're all of us wanting, isn't-- Isn't there a way we could all of us have everything?" He bit his lip. "Unless you don't. I mean, if it's too much--"

"Buck, stop spinning your wheels," Steve interrupted, brow furrowing slightly. "Slow down, okay? You're talking about... about all three of us. Together."

"Yeah," Bucky whispered. _Steve_ , groaned Tony in Bucky's memory, and then in the next breath, _Bucky!_ Bucky's neck burned so hot he thought his collar would start to smoke. "Guess I am. If you'd be okay with it. If he would."

Steve's fingers stroked lightly through Bucky's hair, idly rubbing at the nape of Bucky's neck. "I think I might be okay with it," Steve said slowly. "Hadn't really given it much thought until just now, but... The idea has some appeal."

"If he's in. It's..." Bucky swallowed, hard. "Jerkoff fantasies aren't always what a guy wants for real."

"That's true," Steve allowed. "Won't know until we ask, though, will we?"

Bucky worried at his lip some more. "Even if he says yes, what happens if--"

Steve kissed him to shut him up, and laced their fingers together. "There'll be some stuff to work out," Steve conceded when they broke apart again, the words ghosting across Bucky's lips. "Stop getting ahead of yourself. Let's just take this one step at a time."

Bucky leaned his forehead against Steve's, his hand wrapping around the back of Steve's neck. "Yeah," he sighed, and then took a deep breath. It felt cleaner air than the breath before, and Bucky held it in his lungs for a moment before letting it gust back out. "Yeah, okay. You're the man with the plan, after all."

Steve was startled into a laugh. "Jerk." He kissed Bucky again, and then sighed. "There is one thing we should get out of the way first, though. I can only break my heart into so many pieces."

Bucky felt a sudden chill seeping into his chest, as if the arm Tony had made for him had suddenly frozen and was leaching away his warmth. "Peggy," he said softly.

Steve nodded. "Peggy," he agreed. "I need to know she's safe, that we're doing what we can for her. So tell me this plan of yours that I'm not going to like."


	23. PART THREE - Directors Meeting

Tony stood in the bathroom in nothing but trousers, staring in disgust at the implements laid out on the counter. "Do we have to do it this way?"

"Sir," JARVIS said calmly, "Mr. Barnes' plan, including your and Captain Rogers' modifications, holds a sixty-two percent chance of success, with a seven percent margin of error. The next candidate plan has only a twenty-six percent chance, and the margin of error is nearly double."

"How much of Bucky's plan really rests on my facial hair, though?" Tony complained. "Come on, she still thought I was Dad when I was fresh out of the armor and in my workshop clothes last week, and she's been coming back almost every single day since. I'm willing to put on this stupid costume, but my _beard_ \--"

"You'll look great," Bucky said, pushing through the door without even knocking.

"How did you get in here?" Tony demanded. "JARVIS, how did Bucky get into my bathroom?"

"I thought you could use some assistance," JARVIS said mildly. "It would, perhaps, be detrimental to the plan if you accidentally cut your nose off instead of just the beard."

"I'm surrounded by comedians," Tony grumbled. His petulance didn't stop him from admiring the fine figure Bucky cut in that replica of his old uniform, though. At least some good would come of this ridiculous plan. Tony made a note to get JARVIS to grab some stills for later perusal.

"Shake a leg, wouldja?" Bucky said. "If she keeps to her schedule, she'll be here in half an hour." Since that first shocking encounter, Peggy had returned to the tower every afternoon at the same time to prowl the landing gantry, as if she was stuck on a repeating loop until she'd successfully solved this puzzle. The first day, Steve had tried to approach her, but she'd just stared at him blankly for a long moment, and then shot him in the leg and fled. He and Bucky had unveiled their plan to Tony that evening.

Their stupid plan that meant Tony had to make himself look even more like the young Howard that Peggy had known before Hydra had gotten their hands on her.

Bucky grinned as if he could hear Tony's mental sulking and patted the countertop. "Come on, hop up and let me at you," he said.

Tony sighed, long-suffering, and sat on the countertop, his legs dangling like a kid's. Bucky turned on the hot water. "I don't _want_ to look like my dad," Tony said, not for the first time.

"You already do," Bucky returned ruthlessly, holding up the old photograph of Howard next to Tony's face. He stuck the photo in the mirror's frame to hold it up, then picked up the razor and dropped the prosthetic hand gently on Tony's head to steady it. He'd been working hard on his control, this last week, and was showing significant progress. "We're just highlighting it. Peggy knew Howard a lot better than she knew either Steve or me, at least by the end. And whatever they did to her, they erased Steve, or turned her against him, but--"

"I _know_ ," Tony gritted, though out of respect for the razor Bucky was scraping against his skin, he tried to hold still. "But she _killed_ Howard. Why didn't she remember him _then_?"

Bucky shrugged as he rinsed off the blade. "I dunno. Maybe she didn't see him. You said it was a car accident; maybe they just pointed her at it and said, 'wreck that car.'"

Tony shivered. "Why are you in such a rush to get this done, anyway? We could probably build on this plan and make it lots better. What if--"

"Hush," Bucky chided, gently tipping Tony's head further to get to his neck. "You're going to make me nick you if you keep talking." He rinsed the blade again, and went back to work. "Steve wants this thread tied off," Bucky said a minute later, "before we start trying to weave in any new ones."

"What does that even mean?" Tony demanded.

Bucky just shook his head and tipped Tony's head to the other side. "One thing at a time."

Tony sighed and closed his eyes, trying to relax into the sensations of the razor rasping over his face, of Bucky's metal hand on his head. Bucky was still impatient over the trickiness of the fine motor skills, but the way the fingers slid over Tony's scalp felt almost natural. "You're hiding something from me," he mumbled.

"Mm," Bucky agreed. After a moment, he sighed. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell Steve?"

Tony cracked an eyelid, but Bucky's face was a study in careful expressionlessness. "Probably not healthy to hide things from your boyfriend," Tony ventured.

"Probably not," Bucky said. "But I don't think he should know this one. Not yet."

"You are pitting my curiosity against my good nature and honesty," Tony said. "Devious and smart; I approve. I promise, now tell me."

Bucky's lips twitched slightly, and then he frowned in concentration as he shaped the ends of Tony's mustache, checking the photo of Howard frequently. "Do you remember the time stream correcting, after we got back?"

Tony waited until Bucky had pulled the razor away from his mouth before he answered. "It's pretty hazy. I remember it hurting a lot, but I can't actually remember the pain itself, if that makes any sense. It doesn't, does it?"

"Not really, no, but I'll take your word for it." Bucky rinsed the razor a last time, then turned off the water and handed Tony a towel. "So you don't remember any of the stuff that got corrected?"

Tony patted away the remnants of shaving cream and water, studiously not checking his reflection. "No, though I guess there must have been something pretty big, from how much it hurt, if I correctly understand what Jane told me about it."

"You talked to Jane?" A flicker of panic crossed Bucky's face, and wasn't that interesting?

"At some length, yes," Tony said cautiously. "She's the expert -- except for Thor, but his science-talk doesn't mesh with mine well, even with Allspeak -- and I needed to know I hadn't caused some kind of... permanent damage."

"But she didn't tell you what had changed?" Bucky was fidgeting with a button on his suit jacket, almost green with worry.

"The way she explained it, she wouldn't know, either. Would she?" Tony hesitated, then put his hand on Bucky's shoulder and waited until Bucky looked up. "Just tell me."

Bucky's gaze slid sideways. "I'm what changed," he breathed. "I was... That first night, if you hadn't found me, those Hydra agents would have found me instead."

"Probably, yeah." The Hydra agents they'd found had been implacable. They'd certainly have finished the job that the fall from the train had, incredibly, failed to do. "But you surviving shouldn't have caused that big a rift," Tony pointed out, "not since I brought you here. Dead or missing, either way--"

Bucky shook his head quickly, watching his human hand fiddling with the razor. "Not dead. They wouldn't have killed me. They'd have captured me. Taken me back to base to finish the job they'd started when Steve rescued me." His lips pressed thinly, and then his eyes flickered up to meet Tony's again, pained but calm. "They'd have made me into the Winter Soldier. It was never meant to be Peggy."

That was preposterous. Peggy had _always_ been the Winter Soldier; Tony had known that since SHIELD's downfall. He'd even explained it-- he'd told Bucky-- he'd said--

Suddenly dizzy, Tony swayed, and Bucky caught his shoulders, steadying him and helping him down from the counter. Bucky's hand lingered on his back, protective, but Tony tried not to lean into it any more than he had to. He was going to have to do something about this damn double-crush soon. "I was the Winter Soldier, in your original timeline," Bucky repeated, strangely intent. "You as much as told me that."

Whether it was true or not, Bucky obviously believed it. And as much of a mess as Steve was over Peggy, if it had been _Bucky_ that Steve had been forced to fight... Tony grimaced. "I can see why you don't want Steve to know."

Bucky nodded. "He would be pretty upset about it, even if it's a moot point now. I don't think I can keep it from him forever, but I'd... like to have Peggy squared away and safe, if possible, before I tell him."

Tony considered Bucky's expression. "And you told Jane about this?"

"And Thor, yeah."

Tony shrugged off Thor's involvement; Thor was far more blasé about the heedless rewriting of the rules of quantum physics than any man who routinely wore a cape ought to be. Jane, though, Jane had a pretty decent grasp on the fine boundary between the impossible and the improbable, and whether something was likely to cause the universe to collapse. If she knew about this shift in the timestream and hadn't sounded an alarm, then, well, Tony guessed they were just going to carry on with things the way that they were.

Tony thought about seeing Bucky's quick, sly smile replaced with the Winter Soldier's blank and implacable stare, and shivered. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he was okay with carrying on.

"Okay. Okay, yeah." Tony drew a deep breath and made himself face the specter of his father in the mirror, more than somewhat ashamed of his sulking. What did it say about him that he was easier about exposing his back to the Winter Soldier's fire than sacrificing his vanity? He blew out his breath again and checked the seal on the bulletproof vest Steve had insisted on. "Hand me my shirt, and let's get this show on the road." He'd rescued Bucky, and now it was time to do the same for Peggy.

He could do this.

***

Bucky was fidgeting. His artificial fingers curled and uncurled and curled again around the grip of the rifle that Tony had carefully modified to look like his favorite weapon from the war, complete with the targeting scope that Howard had designed especially for him. This rifle didn't shoot bullets, though, and since Tony had only finished it last night, Bucky had only had the time -- and the ordnance -- to practice-fire it twice.

"You okay?" Tony asked.

Bucky shrugged as he uncurled and curled his fingers again. "Aim's still not as steady as I'd like, and that kick is going to be hard to compensate for."

"Sorry about that," Tony said. "I had to soup up the firepower to make up for the heavier payload."

Bucky grunted. "I know. Still wish I had more time to practice with it."

"Hey, if we miss her this time, I'll knock up some practice slugs for you, and you can spend tomorrow on the range." Tony hesitated. "Or we could not try this today and wait until you've had time to practice. Another couple of days won't--"

"The timing isn't going to get any better," Bucky said. "And she might lose interest and stop coming around. Everyone in position?"

"I'm in my roost and Nat's heading into the tunnels now," Clint reported. "It feels all wrong, though. Sam doesn't need my help to keep an eye out for aliens, and I can't watch Nat's back from here."

"I don't mind the second pair of eyes," Sam said. "I mean, they're hard to miss, but unlike the aliens, I can only look in one direction at a time."

"Hopefully it will be temporary," Steve reassured Clint. "If Peggy's lurking, I need her to see that you're over there and not here so she'll feel okay about coming in closer. As soon as we've got a solid report on her, I'll let you drop closer to Nat's position."

"I've got eyes on the device," Natasha reported. "Give me a few minutes to look for traps and telltales, but it doesn't seem to be guarded."

"Let me know when you get up in it," Tony put in, "if it looks different from the others. This should be the last one, right?"

"Assuming you counted them correctly," Steve said.

"My math is always right," Tony shot back reflexively.

"Can your math do something about the slime monsters?" Clint put in. "I could do with fewer of those. That's math, right?"

"Do you have a sighting?" Steve demanded. Approaching the summoning devices to disarm them had resulted in the spontaneous appearance of a slimy alien about half the time, but even Tony hadn't been able to detect a pattern. They weren't hard to take down, now that their weaknesses had been found, but Tony would be glad to be done with the damn things.

"No, nothing yet."

Steve sighed. "Stay off comms unless you've got something constructive to say," he scolded. "Thor and Bruce are on standby. Are you out of sight, Buck?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, backing up into the shadows behind Tony so as not to make a liar of himself. "Tony gets all the love."

The Winter Soldier was not who Tony wanted love from, but that was the plan: he was going to try to catch and hold Peggy's attention long enough for Bucky to nail her with the tranq-and-net combination that was loaded into Bucky's hastily-fabricated rifle.

Tony felt naked without the armor, and even nakeder without his beard. He kept his shoulders straight, though; ignoring his own discomfort to play to an audience was something it seemed he'd grown up knowing how to do.

It was even more important, these days, as it turned out, since not only were there enemies and antagonists to gull, but also Tony's own teammates and friends. What the hell was wrong with him, that he'd managed to fall for the two members of his team that were already involved with each other and therefore the _least_ likely to be interested in Tony?

"Got movement on a roof eight blocks east of my position," Clint cut in to say. "Sam, you see it?"

Tony's mouth felt suddenly dry, and all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Do not engage," Steve reminded Clint and Sam. "Just confirm visual."

"I don't-- Wait, yes, I do," Sam said. "That's her, all right. Visual confirmed."

Clint grunted and added, "She spotted me and swung wide to put a building between us, but she's still heading generally in the direction of the tower. It's showtime."

"Thanks, Clint; you can drop down to help Natasha now," Steve responded. "Sam--"

"I know, I know. I'm on slimewatch. You boys be careful."

Tony tried not to watch the rooftops. Instead, he focused on the antenna he was pretending to modify, or fix, or something.

A few minutes later, Bucky murmured, "Got eyes on her. Coming in from the southwest."

"Roger that," Steve said. "Give Tony a count when you can."

Tony's back itched, right between the shoulder blades. He trusted Bucky, but God, he wanted his armor. He focused on his breathing, trying to keep it even.

"Tony. I'm going to have to move a bit to get into position. Count of three," Bucky breathed, barely audible even though the comms, "and then turn around, on my mark. See if you can get her talking. ...And mark."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a count of two, then fixed on his show-smile -- the one he'd blatantly modeled on his dad's -- and turned.

She wasn't wearing the face mask or the goggles this time, and her straggly hair had been pulled back into a messy bun. Tony wondered if that was to keep it out of her way for her rooftop acrobatics or because of some subconsciously ingrained need to look presentable for a meeting with a colleague. There was a gun in her human hand -- a simple 9mm pistol -- but she kept it pointed at the ground. "Howard," she said, wary but no longer surprised. "Why are you here?"

_Why are you looking for him?_ Tony wanted to ask, but instead he said, "Where else would I be?" He kept his hands loose at his sides.

Peggy's head cocked, just slightly. "You're dead."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I killed you," Peggy said, and her posture shifted, just slightly. She looked... tired. "I remember that, now. I didn't know you then, but I know you now, and you're dead." She frowned. "Why did I kill you? We were..." She trailed off, her focus intensifying.

"We were friends, Peggy," Tony said gently. He hoped Bucky was nearly in position.

"Don't call me that."

"We were friends. We helped each other. Do you know how many times you pulled my fat out of the fire?" Howard had said that to Tony, once: _That woman pulled my fat out of the fire more times than I could count_.

"I killed you," Peggy snarled. "You're _dead_." Her eyes were wild, fearful as a trapped animal's.

_Come on, Bucky_ , Tony silently urged. He lifted a hand, moving slowly, reaching for her. "You did," he said softly. "You killed me. But I'm still your friend, Peggy. Take my hand, and stop running. Come home, and let me help you."

Peggy's eyes were glued to Tony's hand as he reached out. "I can't." But she didn't move, and so neither did Tony. "I can't, Howard."

"I want to help you."

Peggy's head jerked up, her eyes focusing over Tony's shoulder -- Bucky must have stepped out of the shadows finally, taking advantage of her instant of distraction to line up his shot. She raised her gun, but it was too late; the modified rifle's report thundered in Tony's ears, the net already unfurling as it flew past his shoulder.

One of the spinning counterweights caught his eye, pain lanced through his head, and then everything went dark. Tony heard the crack of the 9mm and then a chorus of voices raised in protest as his knees began to fold.


	24. Jumping the Gun

Tony's head hurt. It hurt a _lot_. What the hell had he been drinking?

He tried to open his eyes, but then closed them again immediately, as tight as he could, because the light stabbed into his brain like some kind of... some kind of... searing, stabbing thing. Fuck, he couldn't _think words_ , it hurt so bad.

"Tony?"

Was that Steve? Had he passed out in the common area? Tony grimaced and put his hand over his still-tightly-squeezed eyes. "Light," he managed. His throat was raspy and dry.

"Too much light?" Steve asked.

Tony nodded. That hurt, too. This was _not_ a normal hangover.

"Okay," Steve said. He was keeping his voice low and soothing, which Tony appreciated a lot (or would, once the pain had died down a little) but there was an undercurrent to Steve's voice that Tony couldn't quite parse. "I've turned the lights off," Steve said. "There's some ambient stuff coming from the monitors, but it's mostly dark now. Want to give it another try?"

Monitors? What monitors? "Where 'm I?"

"We're in medical," Steve said. Tony heard footsteps, and then Steve was carefully lifting Tony's hand off his face. "See if you can open your eyes now? It'd be really helpful if we could check your pupil response while you're awake."

Half of a whimper slipped out of Tony's throat, but he pried open one eye. His head throbbed, but no new spikes of pain radiated out of his eyeball, so he cautiously opened the other as well. "What happened?"

Steve looked worried. "What do you remember?"

"Um." Steve had forgotten to let go of Tony's hand, and that was even more distracting than the pain. "Shaving? No. No, I remember standing outside on the roof. Waiting for the-- for Peggy. Did she come? Did she shoot me in the head? Did--" The heart monitor pinged in protest as adrenaline flooded Tony. "Bucky! What-- Is he--"

Steve put both hands on Tony's chest and pushed him back down, gently but inexorably. "Bucky's fine. He's fine, I promise. Peggy did shoot him, but it just scratched the arm you made for him. He's _fine_."

Tony stared at Steve, suddenly wishing it wasn't _quite_ so dark, so he could tell whether Steve was trying to lie. "You're sure?"

"He's fine," Steve repeated. "Bucky's fine, I'm fine, everyone is fine. You're the only one who got hurt."

"And Peggy?" Tony demanded, though he submitted to Steve's silent demand to rest, leaning back into the pillows.

Steve met him halfway, helping to rearrange the pillows so Tony was half-sitting. "She's in custody for now. Still sedated, unless she's woken in the last hour. Bruce is running some tests, and Natasha is looking up some deprogramming specialists she used to know."

Tony blinked. "We got her?"

Steve nodded. "We got her. Hopefully, we'll be able to help her." He grinned, suddenly, and Tony hoped the heart monitor wouldn't register the way his chest tightened at that boyish expression. "Good job," Steve said, eyes sparkling. "Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day."

Tony laughed, startled. "I said that, what, four years ago? Five?"

Steve grinned. "I have a very good memory."

"What _did_ happen out there?" Tony asked. He could sort of remember Peggy talking to him, but it was coming in fits and starts, with no sense of order or reason to it. Also, the memories were suspect, because he was pretty certain that the Winter Soldier had not _actually_ suggested a square-dancing contest.

"The net Bucky fired started to unfold a little bit sooner than expected, and one of the counterweights smacked you right in the temple," Steve said. He brushed the edge of a bandage on Tony's forehead. Tony flinched automatically, but Steve's touch was light enough not to disturb the bruise. "Peggy was almost as upset as Bucky about it, actually. I think she might have let herself be captured just so she could stick around and make sure you were all right."

"Not me," Tony corrected. "Howard. She thinks I'm my dad."

"Yeah, we'll have to work on that," Steve said. "But it did the trick, anyway." He gave Tony a warm, crooked smile that did unhealthy things to Tony's stomach. "You keep bringing my past back to me," he said. "Filling in the cracks and holes that I thought were unrepairable."

Tony looked away, uncomfortable with being at the center of Steve's regard. "She's not repaired yet," he said.

"Our chances are greater now than they have been any time in the last fifty years or more," Steve argued gently. "Tony, I..." Steve put his hand on Tony's, thumb brushing across the back of his wrist in something like a caress. Startled, Tony looked back at him, but Steve's attention was focused on their hands. "I probably should wait until you're recovered, but you scared the crap out of us, and I've been sitting here thinking about it for most of the last day, and I don't think I can sit on it any longer."

"Ominous," Tony murmured, but Steve didn't seem to hear him.

"I, uh. I don't want you to feel pressured at all," Steve said, withdrawing his hand quickly. Had the monitor lights changed color, or was Steve actually blushing? "But we -- that is, Bucky and I -- we thought..." Steve paused, and even in the dim light, Tony recognized the "into the breach" expression settling on his features. "We couldn't help but notice that you seem to have some... feelings. For us. You know, beyond--"

Tony's stomach dropped. "Shit," he whispered. "I thought I was hiding it-- Fuck. Steve, look, I'm sorry if I was too transparent, okay, I'll... I'll figure it out, I'll do better, it won't affect--"

"Tony."

"What? Sorry, I _said_ I'm sorry, I--"

"Tony, _stop_ ," Steve said, almost pleading. He reached toward Tony again, hesitated, and folded his hands into his lap, squeezing them together as if he was restraining himself. "Let me finish. I'm not upset, _we're_ not upset. The opposite, really."

Confusion effectively stopped the flow of Tony's words.

"I know we didn't exactly get off on the right foot, but you're... you're one of the best friends I've ever had," Steve continued. "And we still argue a lot, but you've gotta know that's one of the things I like best about you -- that you don't back down when you think you're right. And you're... you're so good and kind--"

Tony's brain was still scrambled from the concussion. That was the only explanation. "You know you're talking to _me_ , right, not Bruce or Sam or--"

"I know who I'm talking to, Tony. I know you don't like to admit that you're kind and generous, but that's okay. I've got eyes."

"Steve, do you realize what you sound like right now?"

"I expect I sound like I'm trying to work my nerve up to ask you out."

"Little bit," Tony agreed, desperately hoping that this would start making sense in the very near future, because this was going to make his head start hurting again if it went on for too much longer, and he didn't think he could take that.

"Good," Steve said. "That's what it is."

So, not so much with the making sense, then. "You have a boyfriend," Tony said. "You remember that, right? I am the one who got hit on the head, why are you the one who has to be reminded? Bucky would--"

"Bucky would be thrilled," Steve said, raising his voice just enough to override Tony's growing hysteria, "if you would agree to go on a date with us."

Tony blinked.

"Both of us," Steve clarified.

Tony rubbed at his eyes, but Steve did not disappear. That did not necessarily mean he was not a hallucination, though. More precise testing would require--

"And me," Steve added. "In case that wasn't clear. I'd be pretty happy about it, too." His head lifted and he glanced at Tony, who could only stare back. "Um. No pressure, like I said," Steve said. "We were just... hoping. Take your time thinking about it. Or, you know, you can say no. It's probably kind of a--"

"Let me get this straight," Tony said. It felt like the words were coming from somewhere entirely outside his own brain. "Let me just make sure I heard you correctly. And god, if I'm hallucinating and you were just asking me, you know, what kind of sandwich I'd like to have for lunch, please don't punch me in the face, because in that case I _swear_ it is the concussion talking. But what I _thought I heard_ was that you and Bucky are propositioning me for a three-way."

Wow, if Steve hadn't been blushing before, he _definitely_ was now. Tony hoped it wasn't a flush of anger. Steve was fast, and Tony was in no shape to dodge right now.

"It's not about sex," Steve said.

"It's not?"

Steve made a face. "It's not _just_ about sex. We don't want a one-off or a fling. We'd really, honestly, like to date you, or whatever you want to call it these days. Long-term, if it works out."

"You're serious."

"I'm serious. _We're_ serious."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "I know I'm an easy target right now, but if you're setting me up for some kind of terrible practical joke, Rogers, I will _end_ you."

"No!" Steve looked honestly horrified. "I wouldn't do that!"

Tony gave him a skeptical look.

"Not while you had a head injury!" Steve protested. "Anyway, I would never set anyone up to feel rejected. That's a _terrible_ joke. My jokes aren't that mean."

"That's true," Tony allowed. "You... really mean it, huh?"

Steve was still blushing, but his eyes were steady on Tony's as he nodded.

"And Bucky's really on board with this? Steve, he was in the 1940s a _month_ ago."

"He's always been quick to adapt," Steve said, smiling just a little. "It was his idea."

"I feel faint," Tony said. "I might swoon."

"Good thing you're already lying down," Steve said drily.

Tony made a face. "Sure. Knock me over the head with something like this while I'm already laid up, and then deny me my natural processing outlet of sarcasm and mockery."

"You don't have to answer now," Steve said. "Think about it while you recover, and--"

"Oh, hell no. This will take at least a week to heal properly; I'm not giving you that long to change your minds and back out of it."

Steve ducked his chin. Bashful was a good look on him. "Does that mean yes?"

Tony's lips twitched. "It means yes. As soon as I'm cleared to leave medical."

Steve's pleased smile practically lit up the room. Without the headache-spike side effects, which Tony appreciated."Can I--?" Steve slid his hand into Tony's, lacing their fingers together and watching Tony's face closely.

Tony grinned like a sap and then recalled himself and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for pity's sake, just kiss me already."

Steve's hand twitched in Tony's, and his mouth quirked mischievously. "Gosh, I dunno, Tony. That'd be awfully forward, don'tcha think?"

Tony snorted. "As soon as I get my hands on a tablet, I'm telling the entire Internet that Steve Rogers is an enormous troll."

"You do that at least once a month. I don't think the Internet is listening to you anymore."

"An enormous troll who'd rather banter than _kiss me_."

"Now that's just low," Steve complained, but he was still smiling.

Tony tugged Steve closer by their joined hands. The heart monitor started beeping in distress again. Without breaking eye contact, Tony reached over and silenced it by the simple expedient of yanking its cord out of the wall. "Did you warn Bucky that I play dirty?"

"Nah," Steve said as he leaned in close. "Be more fun to let him find that out for himself." The last few words were said from so close that Tony could feel Steve's breath against his mouth. Steve hesitated again, eyes flicking down and then up. "Are you--?"

Tony lifted his head to close the last small space between them before Steve could ask again.

_Kissing_ , he thought wildly. _I am kissing Steve. And not getting punched. And it's not a hallucination. Probably._

All hesitation lost, Steve's hands cupped Tony's face as he dropped a series of kisses around Tony's mouth. They were slow and soft, nearly chaste except for the tiniest hint of Steve's tongue brushing Tony's lip at the end, not seeking entry, not yet, not even when Tony's mouth fell open with a whimper.

Tony's fingers curled into Steve's hair, clinging so desperately that if he had any shame left, he'd be embarrassed.

"Wow," Bucky said from the doorway.

Tony jerked away from Steve, half-guilty, but Steve just looked up with a smug grin. He'd probably heard Bucky coming, the hearing-enhanced jerk.

"That is _every bit_ as hot as I imagined it would be," Bucky said, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. "Jumped the gun and asked him without me, did you?"

Steve had the grace to look contrite. "I thought you were going to go take a nap!" he said. "It could've been _hours_ before you were back. I didn't want to wait that long."

Bucky snorted. "I should've known better," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "You haven't waited for me to back you up for twenty years. Did you screw this up, too?"

Steve glared. "Kissing rather implies a successful outcome, don't you think?"

"He tripped all over himself," Tony said, smirking. "I only agreed because I was so embarrassed for him."

Steve glared and Bucky laughed, then came over to stand beside Steve and look down at Tony. "Joking aside?" he said.

"Joking aside," Tony said, "I would be crazy to turn _either_ of you down, never mind _both_ of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Bucky grinned. "Do I get a kiss, too? Gotta keep it fair, you know."

Steve groaned. "Buck--"

"Hell, yeah," Tony said, reaching up to curl his hand around Bucky's neck. "Come here."

Bucky's kiss was nothing like Steve's, except for the way it made Tony's pulse race, and the way Steve smiled to see it.


	25. Thirds

The tower was deserted when they got home.

"It is suspiciously quiet in here," Tony said. "It's not even 11 yet. Where is everyone?"

"Maybe they decided to clear out so we'd have some privacy when we got back?" Steve suggested.

"I don't know who _you've_ been living with for the last few years," Tony said, "but I'm pretty sure all the Avengers _I_ know would normally be camped out right by the elevator to collect gossip."

"He's right," Bucky put in. "JARVIS, where is everyone?"

"There was a general call approximately ninety minutes ago," JARVIS responded.

At Tony's side, Steve tensed. "Why didn't we get the message?"

"The threat level was determined to be low," JARVIS said. "The team agreed not to disturb your date. You are, of course, on call should the situation evolve, or if anything else comes up."

"Why did the whole team scramble for a low-threat mission?" Tony wondered.

"Agent Hill's sweep team captured a Hydra base that appears to have once housed the Winter Soldier project, including functional cryostorage facilities, the memory disruption and modification devices, and hard copy of relevant records. Obviously, as such items might provide significant value in Ms. Carter's recovery, we were contacted. A team of two or three was requested, but they were..." JARVIS hesitated delicately. "They were unable to self-select a subgroup." In other words, they'd had a knock-down, drag-out fight over who was going to have to remain behind, until someone (probably Sam or Natasha) had suggested they just all go.

"When are they due back?" Steve asked.

"Current projection is tomorrow evening or the day following. Shall I query Agent Romanov for an update?"

" _No_ ," Bucky stressed before Steve could answer. "It's our night off," he told Steve firmly. "They will call us if they run into problems. Otherwise, we can wait for the after-action report. And we are in the middle of a date."

"Right," Steve said, and his attention was suddenly on Tony. "Yes."

"I don't know about 'middle'," Tony said, loosening his tie. "I mean, we did the entertainment and the dinner and the stroll through the park to tempt the muggers, and now we're back home. Aren't we at the end bit, now, where you walk me back to my door and kiss me good night and leave me to, you know, gush into my diary or something?"

"Well, we can do it that way if that's what you really want," Steve said.

"But we were kind of hoping you'd let us through your door," Bucky continued, suddenly closing in on Tony and resting his hands on Tony's hips.

"Were you, now?" Tony took a step back, only to collide with Steve's chest. Steve's hands curled around Tony's shoulders, big and warm. Bucky took another step forward, and then Tony was pressed between them.

"We were," Bucky said. He tipped his head and kissed Tony, and Tony sighed into it, relaxing and leaning into Steve's bulk. Steve chuckled and bent to kiss the thin strip of Tony's neck that was visible above his shirt collar.

Steve's hands slid from Tony's shoulders, thumbs brushing over his collarbones and coming to rest just over his sternum. Bucky's tongue teased into Tony's mouth as Steve loosened Tony's tie a little more and started working on his shirt buttons.

Bucky's good hand reached past Tony for Steve, even as the metal one pulled Tony's hips flush against Bucky's. Tony groaned softly, and then again, louder, as Bucky pulled Steve in tighter against Tony's back. Steve chuckled and ground against Tony again, more deliberately, as he nuzzled his way past Tony's now-loosened collar to suck on his throat.

Momentarily overwhelmed, Tony dropped his head to Bucky's shoulder and pushed his face into Bucky's neck, panting and trying to will his heartrate back toward something reasonable. Happening. This was happening? Kissing, they'd done some kissing over the last couple of weeks, but nothing beyond that, not unless he counted the night before Tony had been cleared to leave medical, when JARVIS had unexpectedly and without warning provided Tony with the audio feed from Bucky's room. That had been _unbelievably_ hot, but it had been familiar, too, looking in through a window.

This was, this was _real_ and they were both focused on _him_ and it was good, it was so good, but it was too much and Tony couldn't-- Didn't know what to-- What did he--

Tony dragged in another breath and fisted his hands in Bucky's shirt.

"Are you panicking?" Bucky murmured against his ear.

"...little."

"We can stop." Steve had stopped already, though he hadn't moved away entirely, just enough to put a bit of space between them, so that Tony wasn't pressed so tightly between them. His hands were back on Tony's shoulders, massaging gently, and that felt nice.

Tony shook his head. "Don't want to stop. Just need to catch my breath. Trying to convince myself that I'm not going to screw this up royally."

Bucky laughed, just a little. "Good. I thought I was the only one thinking that."

Tony snorted. " _You_ aren't the third wheel, here. You and Steve--"

"Tony." Steve cupped Tony's chin and turned him until he was facing Steve. "You're not the third wheel. I've been falling for you for _years_ , and I've been watching Bucky trying to pretend he didn't have a crush on you since the minute you both came through that portal."

Bucky let out an irritable huff, but didn't deny it.

"You may be the third piece of this puzzle," Steve said, earnest and intense the way only Steve could be, "but that doesn't make you a smaller part of it. We're not going to just throw you overboard at the first sign of trouble. If you screw up -- _when_ you screw up, because you're only human, just like us -- we're going to try to help you. And when we screw up, you'll try to help us. Because that's the only way something like this will work, and we do want it to work."

Tony took a slow breath, watching Steve's eyes. He let it out carefully. He could almost believe it. He was pretty certain that _Steve_ believed it, or at least wanted to believe it, and that helped. "It's... going to take a while to sink in, I expect," he admitted.

"That's fine," Bucky said. He slid his arms around Tony from behind, nuzzling at the nape of Tony's neck, in the same spot Steve had been sucking earlier. "We'll have fun convincing you."

"Bucky," Steve sighed.

Tony laughed, only a little shaky. "It's okay," he told Steve, as grateful for Bucky's levity as he was for Steve's sincerity. Tony used to know how to have fun in bed; he needed to leave the worrying for the morning. "Really. Come on. Let's go to my room and you can do your best to make me stop thinking entirely."

Steve's lips twitched. "There's a challenge if I ever heard one. Buck?" He pulled away, catching Tony's hand as he backed toward the hall.

"Operation Melt Tony's Brain is a go," Bucky chirped, skipping ahead a couple of steps. When Tony caught his eye, he winked, and Tony felt the last sliver of uncertainty melt.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he asked as they pulled him into his own room and started stripping him like a pair of efficient -- if excessively handsy -- valets.

"There's no escaping us now!" Bucky taunted, crowding Tony back toward the bed.

Tony grinned as he half-fell onto the mattress. "Oh, no. Whatever shall I do."

"I suppose you could try to escape," Bucky suggested.

"Or you could let us have our wicked way with you," Steve said.

"That one," Tony said. "I vote for that."

"Good choice."

Bucky pretended to pout. "But if you tried to escape, we'd get to tie you up."

Tony's whole body flooded with heat as he stared at Bucky. "You are a lot kinkier than I've been giving you credit for," he said.

Steve slid up behind Bucky and reached around him to unfasten his jeans. Steve kissed across Bucky's right shoulder, and Bucky tipped his head so Steve would continue up his neck. Both of them kept their eyes on Tony, which was both hot and a little disconcerting. "You have no idea," Steve murmured, hooking Bucky's waistband and starting to tug the denim off.

"What's that supposed to-- _Holy mother of god_ ," Tony breathed. That was _not_ the pair of lacy underwear he had added to Bucky's wardrobe as a joke. That was an all-new pair, red satin and gold lace.

"Picked these out just for you," Bucky said with a wink. "You like 'em?"

Tony had to close his eyes for a minute. By the time he'd opened them again, Bucky had stripped down to nothing but that underwear. "You have to ask?"

Steve stroked a hand down Bucky's stomach and then outlined the edges of Bucky's cock through the satin. Bucky bit his lip and tipped his head back to rest on Steve's shoulder, showing off the long line of his throat. Tony ached to kiss it and lick it, to _mark_ it.

"You can settle an argument for us, actually," Steve said, continuing his slow caress of Bucky's body.

"What's that?" Tony managed, unable to stop watching Steve's hand.

Bucky's eyes widened. "Steve, no," he protested, laughing, straightening and starting to pull away.

"Well," Steve drawled, ignoring Bucky's groaning, "the store called these the 'firestarters', but I really thought we should call them the 'Iron Manties'."

Tony lost it, fell into sheer hysteria. He curled onto his side and laughed until he thought he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

When he started to get himself under control, he found that they'd joined him on the bed. Steve's clothes had disappeared sometime while Tony was laughing, and that sobered him right back up.

He grabbed Steve's wrists and pulled them wide; Steve allowed it, letting Tony look his fill of the body he'd been fantasizing about for longer than he cared to admit.

Bucky pretended to be unimpressed as he ran his fingers up and down Tony's spine. "He's not all that," Bucky sniffed.

"Nice," Steve said, looking too amused for his offended tone.

Bucky grinned and kissed Tony's shoulder. "Too bulky. Too tall. I liked you better when you were small and skinny and fit under my arm."

"Liar," Steve said fondly.

"A man's got his preferences," Bucky said loftily. "You know I love you no matter what body you're in, but by and large, I like 'em compact. Like Tony."

Tony snorted. "Such a troll," he accused Bucky, turning his head to catch Bucky's lips in a brief kiss. "Don't drag me into this."

"Oh, it's too late; you're in it," Bucky promised, and he slithered under Tony's arm to bite Tony's nipple.

"Fuck!" Tony cursed, startled. Bucky laughed and started sucking and licking instead. Jolts of pleasure like lightning radiated from each touch of Bucky's tongue.

Steve twisted his wrists out of Tony's grasp, capturing Tony's instead, and pushed him down onto the bed. Bucky went with it, mouth still fastened to Tony's nipple. "Pretty sure there was a challenge issued," Steve said.

"What?" Tony was having trouble concentrating, for some reason.

Steve grinned. "Challenge. Looks like we're already halfway there." He leaned over Bucky to kiss Tony, and Tony surged up to meet it. There were hands on his torso, and he wasn't sure whose they were, and didn't much care, as long as they kept touching him.

Then there was a mouth on his stomach, hot and wet, moving swiftly lower, and that had to be Bucky, because Steve was still kissing Tony, tongues fencing and teeth scraping. Bucky's mouth covered Tony's cock, and Tony whimpered into Steve's mouth.

"Very nice," Steve murmured, and chased the whine down to where it was lodged in Tony's throat.

Bucky pulled off of Tony with a soft pop, and grinned. "You're a squirmer," he told Tony, as if Tony didn't know that already. "One day I'm going to get Steve to hold you down so you can't move at all."

Well, _that_  mental image caught his attention. Holy fuck. Tony shivered at the wave of heat that rolled over him. Bucky chuckled, then pinched Steve. "Get with the program, here."

Steve sighed, put-upon. "I'm savoring the moment."

"Savor faster," Bucky advised him, "or I'm going to do all the good stuff myself."

Steve lunged up and caught Bucky in a kiss so hot that Tony's cock twitched again just watching. When they separated, Bucky was breathing hard and Steve looked smug. "Like that?"

"More or less, yeah," Bucky agreed weakly.

Steve grinned and slid his hand down Tony's body, artist's fingers mapping every contour and curve, fighter's hands gauging the muscle. "Lovely," Steve said softly. Tony wanted to protest -- next to Steve's enhanced perfection and Bucky's youthful and hard-trained vigor, he was nothing special -- but there was a steely glint in Steve's eye, daring Tony to argue.

Then Bucky started in on Tony's cock again, and Tony forgot all thoughts of dissent, his head falling back to the pillow. He wasn't squirming anymore so much as unashamedly _writhing_ , chasing the heat of Bucky's mouth as it moved, groaning and quivering at the contrast when Bucky pulled away to blow cool air across the damp skin. He knotted one hand in Bucky's hair and fought the urge to direct, to shove, to yank.

Steve's fingers trailed past Tony's cock, paused to brush over Bucky's face, and then continued downward, teasing over Tony's balls, lightly kneading his perineum, sending shocks of sensation echoing up through Tony's body. "Yes?" Steve asked, eyebrow raised. His finger slid lower, tentative.

"Fuck, yes. Please," Tony rasped. He waved an arm at the bedstand. "Lube and stuff," he said.

Steve grinned and reached for the drawer. "Got it."

Tony dragged his fingers through Bucky's hair. "What about you?"

Bucky looked up. "Your call," he said easily.

"Is it?"

Bucky kissed Tony again, lingering and hot, just as the cool lube dripped over his hole. Tony sucked air and concentrated on relaxing around the intrusion, focused on trailing his hand down Bucky's back to caress the satin and lace he was still wearing. That earned him a little shiver, and he grinned into the kiss and slipped a finger under the edge of the elastic. Bucky's skin was warm and smoother than Tony expected, the muscles firm.

"Mm, this time, yeah," Bucky said when he came up for air. "Where do you want me?"

Tony looked at Bucky slowly, appraising, trying not to be too distracted by what Steve was doing, though that was difficult, because Steve was already two knuckles deep and Tony was starting to feel the edges of the burn, a crackling heat that radiated outward. Bucky just waited, smiling a little at Tony's perusal. "In my mouth," Tony finally decided, his voice already rough.

Bucky's eyes shone as he shivered again. "I knew this was a good call," he sighed happily. "I'm not turning that down. No ruining my lingerie, though," he warned Tony. "I have some stuff that's fine for that, but this is my new favorite."

Tony almost choked. "You have enough lingerie to have favorites," he said. "And you have a special set just for --ahh!, Steve, god, yes, like that!-- you have a set for getting destroyed."

"Yep." Bucky's smile turned wicked. "Those are _Steve's_ favorites."

"Buck!" Steve complained. He didn't seem distressed enough to stop working a second finger into Tony's ass, though.

"Christ, I've created a monster," Tony joked, even as he twisted his hips to grind down harder onto Steve's fingers.

Bucky struck a sultry pose. "I _am_ a sexy beast."

Tony laughed, and then gasped as Steve's questing fingers brushed over his prostate and his cock surged in response.

Steve hummed, pleased. "Ah, there we go."

Tony let out a shuddering breath. "Take 'em off, then," he told Bucky, "if you don't want them to get messy."

Bucky grinned and shucked the panties, then climbed back onto the bed to straddle Tony's chest. Tony took hold of his hips and pulled him closer still, guiding Bucky's cock into his mouth. He tasted good, clean and warm; Tony could smell soap under the musky arousal.

"God, Tony," Bucky breathed as he eased past Tony's lips. "You feel so good. God, _god_ , Steve, you're going to love this, it's so-- To-ony, shit, do that again, that, yes, yes, more..."

Tony kept his eyes on Bucky's, tugging on Bucky's hips to pull him deeper. The position wasn't the best for deep throating, but he took in as much as he could, and from the way Bucky shuddered and babbled, Tony was making up for the lack of depth with the dexterity of his tongue.

Steve eased in a third finger, and Tony moaned at the ache. He'd fingered himself more than once, but Steve's hands were bigger, and also had the angle required to push deeper. "Doing all right?" Steve asked.

Tony hummed and nodded. "He's fine," Bucky relayed, "looks nice and-- oh, _god_ , do that again."

Tony's mouth was too full for grinning at the sudden blissed-out expression on Bucky's face, so he settled for pressing his tongue into Bucky's slit again and watching him writhe.

"God, _god_ , Tony, you're-- yeah, like that, _just_ like-- Steve, Stevie, you need to get in him now, before I blow my load. _Now_ , Stevie."

"Bossy," Steve said, but his fingers slid free and a moment later Tony felt the blunt tip of Steve's cock pressing against him. A hand stroked lightly down the outside of Tony's thigh. "Okay, Tony?"

Tony was so far beyond okay he couldn't think of a word for it. He lifted a hand from Bucky's hip and reached for Steve, groping blindly until he felt Steve's fingers lace with his, and squeezed. "Okay," Steve agreed.

_Fuck_ , but Steve felt big. It was going to be _amazing_ , but Tony had to pull off of Bucky while he panted through the stretch.

"Too much?" Steve said when Tony gasped. "We don't have to--"

"Don't you dare," Tony growled. "Just... go slow."

Bucky twisted around to watch. "Damn, that's gorgeous," he breathed, petting Tony's side and thigh. "Look at that. Tony, that's beautiful, just look at you."

Finally, Tony's body relaxed enough to let Steve bottom out. "There we go," Tony breathed. "Oh, god, that feels fantastic."

"Don't let me hurt you," Steve said, still sounding slightly worried.

Tony huffed. "I won't. But you'd have to _move_ for that to even be a possibility."

"You're bossy, too," Steve sighed. " _Two_ of you, for my sins."

Bucky winked at Tony. "He's actually even worse," he told Tony in a conversational tone, "when it's his turn."

Somehow, Tony hadn't even considered that option. He tried to imagine fucking Steve, and his brain just went blank and fuzzed into static.

Then Steve finally started to move, and god, that was good, that was... that was stars igniting behind his eyes with every thrust, the delicious drag and ache of his body being filled, the feel of Steve's hands on him, of Bucky's weight on his chest, still waiting patiently. Tony squeezed Bucky's ass. "Come on back," he said, his words punching out of him in time with Steve's thrusts. "Don't wanna think."

And then, oh then, he could let himself sink into the rhythm of movement, of the slide of bodies, the sharp-bitter taste of Bucky's precome on his tongue, of the feel of his lips around Bucky's cock, of Steve's driving rhythm. Overwhelming sex was better than alcohol for shutting down the brain. It wasn't that Tony turned pliant -- his hands grasped, touched, pushed, and directed; his hips rocked to meet Steve's thrusts -- but that there was no _thought_ needed.

Bucky's metal hand was braced on the wall above the headboard, his flesh fingers curled into Tony's hair, pulling, the mild pain a perfect counterpoint for each jolt of pleasure. Steve was leaning against Bucky's back, peppering Bucky's shoulders and neck with kisses and soft bites.

Tony looked up at him and Steve met his gaze, smiling, and Tony's heart lurched in his chest. "Bucky," Steve said, lips brushing Bucky's shoulder, his eyes still on Tony, "Bucky, look at him."

Bucky's eyes opened and he groaned and then gasped. "Tony, I'm-- can I, Tony?"

Tony hummed his approval and dug his tongue into Bucky's slit, and almost choked at how suddenly Bucky's come was flooding his mouth. Tony swallowed hard, and then again, keeping his tongue moving until Bucky winced and pulled free. He climbed off Tony's chest and propped himself on the metal arm, watching Steve's swiftly-approaching orgasm with shining eyes while he traced spirals on Tony's chest with lazy fingers.

Tony had been half in love with Steve for years, had been fascinated by Bucky from the moment they'd met, had imagined being with them like this dozens of times. His imagination had fallen far short. God, he'd never thought Steve's eyes could look at him so brightly, or that Bucky's touch might be so tender. He'd utterly failed to understand how much this would affect _him_ , he realized, feeling tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

Bucky leaned in to kiss Steve and closed his hand over Tony's cock, jacking him fast and hard.

Tony yelped in surprise and then keened as the white-hot fire of orgasm overtook him, radiating out from his balls and down all the way to his toes, all the way up to his throat. He threw back his head and lifted his hips from the mattress despite Steve's grip, shuddering through it.

Steve grunted as Tony's whole body tensed, and then groaned into Bucky's mouth as his release took hold as well, his hands clenching on Tony's hips hard enough to bruise. "That's it, that's good, you're so gorgeous when you let go," Bucky sighed. "The two of you together, 's like a god damn dream."

After a long moment, the tension in Steve all relaxed at once, and he sagged, only his arms still braced. "God, Tony," he panted. He pulled out carefully, and flopped onto his back, putting Tony in the middle.

Bucky stretched out, molding his body to Tony's like a cat. "Tell me we can stay," he begged. "I don't think I'll be able to walk for at least an hour."

Tony snorted. "I may not be able to walk _tomorrow_ ," he shot back, but he groped for Steve's hand as he said it, squeezing. "Not that I'm complaining. Of course you can stay. What kind of lame-ass boyfriend would kick you out after _that_?"

Steve rolled onto his side and threw his arm over Tony to rest his hand on Bucky's side. "You said you're our boyfriend," he observed into Tony's shoulder.

"Did I?"

"Mm-hm," Bucky agreed sleepily.

"Oh. Well. I guess that's that, then," Tony said. "I'm always right, you know."

Steve snorted. "I might be having second thoughts now." He nuzzled into Tony's neck as he said it, though, then lifted his head to kiss Tony again, licking into Tony's mouth to chase Bucky's taste.

"No take-backs," Tony said smugly, and pulled Bucky's metal arm up around his waist with a jaw-cracking yawn.

He made a mental note to remember to check in with the rest of the team in the morning, and then wondered if Thor's ex-girlfriend (or whatever she was) would take it hard if he sent her some flowers. It was her fault he'd ended up here, after all. Tony could wrap his genius brain around a lot of things, and predicting the future was something he was phenomenally good at. But he was pretty sure even he couldn't have predicted this.

Thank goodness for the Asgardians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was _going_ to be the last chapter, but then I decided that Peggy deserved a little more resolution, so there will be an epilogue next week, and _then_ this will be done. :-)


	26. Epilogue: Peggy's Choice

Tony was restless at the best of times, but Steve's pacing was beginning to irritate even him. "Steve, you're wearing a hole in the floor." It came out more sharply than he'd intended, but it had already been a long day, and they'd confiscated Tony's phone during check-in so he couldn't even distract himself.

"Well, I'm sorry, Tony," Steve snapped back, "but I think I'm allowed to be a little bit nervous, here."

Bucky, leaning against the wall, shot Tony a sharp glance and straightened. He stepped into Steve's path, catching his arm and kissing his cheek. "Come on and sit with us," Bucky said, leading Steve back to the bench to sit at Tony's side.

He sat on Steve's other side as Tony caught up Steve's hand and threaded their fingers together in silent apology. "It'll be okay," Tony said, trying for a gentler tone. "Your testimony has a lot of weight, you know."

Steve grimaced. He hated trading on his reputation and public persona for individual gain. "I just hope it's enough weight to tip the scales."

"Nothing else you can do now," Bucky put in philosophically. "Might as well relax while we wait."

Steve drew a breath to respond and Tony elbowed him before he could say anything that he would regret. Steve grunted and then subsided with a sigh, leaning back against the wall. He kept his eyes fixed on the door to the hearing room, as if he could force it to open through sheer strength of will.

Tony loosened his tie with his free hand and leaned against Steve. "How was she while you were in there?" he asked, more to give Steve something to do than because he had any doubts.

"Fine," Steve said briefly, then shrugged. "Calm. Poised. Not sure I like the new haircut."

Tony chuckled. "Image counts in these things," he said, as if Steve didn't already know that. "She needs to look like a modern professional woman. Safe, predictable. Even a little boring."

Bucky snorted, over on Steve's other side. "Peggy wasn't ever boring," he said.

Steve smiled a little. "No, she wasn't." He glanced at Tony. "You think they'll approve her release?"

"I'm not a psychologist," Tony said. "But she hasn't had a violent episode in more than six months, and for the last two months, her reactions and interactions have been on-par with those of a street-safe PTSD patient. They'll probably be extra cautious for her case, of course, because of her past--"

"--and the serum," Steve interjected, scowling.

"And whatever bastardized version of your serum that they gave her, yes," Tony agreed, "but the serum works in her favor, too. You remember those MRIs they keep taking of her brain, right? The physical damage has been healing in ways that a baseline human simply couldn't. And the reversion of the brainwashing went very well."

Bucky leaned forward to look past Steve. "How do you know all that?"

Tony snorted and rolled his eyes and didn't answer, which he considered answer enough.

Steve understood. "Tony, if you've jeopardized Peggy's chances at freedom by snooping into files you weren't supposed to see--"

"Relax, will you please? Have a little faith in my ability to--" Tony broke off because the door was opening.

Steve bounced to his feet, his shoulders tense and his back military-straight. Bucky and Tony exchanged glances behind his back as they stood, too.

The first to emerge was Dr. Tucker, the head psychiatrist for Peggy's case. The nation's preeminent expert in psychological conditioning, Tony had lured her out of retirement almost eighteen months ago to oversee Peggy's deprogramming. She walked with a cane, her curly hair a silver-white halo, but her chin was held high and her face shone with pride. She came straight to Steve and patted at his chest, since her arthritic shoulder prevented her from reaching higher. "She did it," Dr. Tucker said.

"She's free?" Steve said, his voice soft with disbelief.

Dr. Tucker shook a finger at him. "This is a hospital, not a prison, son," she said. Behind Steve's back, Tony fought a losing battle with a smirk; Dr. Tucker had been born in the last years of World War II, while Steve and Bucky -- and Peggy -- had been fighting in Europe.

"Yes ma'am," Steve said quickly. "I just meant--"

Dr. Tucker smiled and patted his chest again. "I know what you meant," she said. "And yes. It'll take until tomorrow for the paperwork to clear. She's expected to continue keeping her appointments with her therapists, of course, but the board feels she is ready to re-integrate with society."

Steve put his hand over hers and pressed. "Thank you, Doctor," he said, voice thick with feeling. "Thank you for all you've done."

She snorted indelicately. "Peggy did all the work," she said. "I just helped her over the rough patches." Her gaze fell on Tony, and she grinned wider. "And I've been well-compensated for my time."

Tony laughed. "If you expect me to argue, you may be waiting a while."

"I'm not so foolish," Dr. Tucker chuckled. She extracted her hand from Steve's grip to shake Tony's hand and pat Bucky's arm. "I'll be in touch," she promised, and turned to limp with slow dignity down the hall, trailing a pair of assistants and a cluster of associate doctors.

In their wake came Peggy. She was dressed in sober blue and white, the empty left sleeve -- she had voluntarily surrendered the mechanical arm in her second month -- neatly pinned up. Her short, modern hair was meticulously styled, and her makeup subdued and modest. "Captain," she greeted Steve. She almost never used his name.

"Peggy," he returned. "Congratulations."

Her dark eyes searched Steve's face for a moment, then looked past him at Bucky, and then to Tony. "Can I offer you gentlemen some tea?" she finally said, as if it was any other visiting day of the last several months.

"Of course," Steve said, playing along. He offered Peggy his arm, but Bucky stopped him, his expression grave.

"I'll see Peggy up to her room," Bucky said. "Why don't you two stop in the cafeteria and pick up some of those cookies she likes. Give us a few minutes."

Peggy's eyebrows rose curiously, but Tony's stomach knotted. "You sure about this?" he asked softly. "You don't have to--"

"I do," Bucky said. His eyes, when they met Tony's, were frightened but resolute. "I have to."

Steve nodded. "Okay. We'll be along in a little bit, then." He curled his hand around Bucky's neck and pulled him close for a gentle kiss. "You're a good man, Buck."

Steve's confident poise lasted exactly as long as Bucky and Peggy were still in sight. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Steve slumped with a sigh.

"Stop pouting," Tony chided. "She's getting out. It's a good thing!"

"Yes," Steve agreed. "But what if Bucky telling her triggers some kind of--"

"Steve," Tony interrupted. He grabbed Steve's hand and tugged him down the hall toward the hospital cafeteria. "They'll be fine."

"You know that, do you?"

Tony grinned, deliberately cheeky. "Of course. I'm always right."

"You're always an ass," Steve returned, but the tension in his face relaxed somewhat.

"Slander!" Tony gasped. "Lies and slander. Sometimes I'm asleep!"

"I'm pretty sure you're an ass even when you're asleep," Steve said, "if we can count the way you hog the pillows."

"Slander and lies," Tony repeated, smiling. "Come on, soldier. I know you were too nervous to eat breakfast this morning, and we're well past lunchtime now. You could use a snack."

By the time Steve had tucked away enough food to make up for his missed breakfast and lunch, a good half-hour had passed. "Do you think it's safe to head back up now?" Steve asked, balancing a tray of coffees and a bag of assorted cookies while Tony paid their bill.

"Probably," Tony said. "It's a pretty simple story, really, if he doesn't get bogged down in the details."

He'd known this moment was coming -- Bucky had broached the idea with him and Steve weeks ago, when the hearing was first scheduled -- and thought he'd prepared himself for every possible reaction, from pat disbelief to hot rage to crushing despair. Steve had gone through all three when Bucky had finally explained, some six months after the three of them had begun dating, just before they'd officially all moved into Tony's penthouse suite together. There were still nights, occasionally, when Steve held Bucky desperately tight, as if afraid the timestream would suddenly decide to revert.

But when they opened the door to Peggy's room, Tony froze in shock. This was not a reaction for which he had been prepared.

Peggy was sitting in her chair, with Bucky kneeling gracelessly at her feet, his head in her lap. He was shivering, possibly sobbing, though he was making no sound, and Peggy's long fingers were combing soothingly through his hair.

She didn't stop when Tony appeared, though she looked up at him, and then to Steve at Tony's shoulder.

The tableau held for a long moment, none of them willing to break it. Finally, Peggy looked down, tightening her fingers to tug gently at the hair at the nape of Bucky's neck. "All right, James," she said, gently sympathetic. "Time to pull it together and have our tea."

Bucky looked up and Tony saw that he _had_ been crying, eyes bloodshot and face streaked. "Yes'm," he managed, and sat up back on his heels, dragging his sleeve over his face.

Tony took the food and drinks from Steve and carried it to the tiny rolling table where Peggy's tea kettle and cup were already waiting. "Did you get my molasses biscuits?" Peggy asked him.

"Of course," Tony said, taking the paper coffee cups from the carrying tray and setting them out. Behind him, Steve had crouched beside Bucky, and they were talking in a low murmur that Tony couldn't make out. He reached into the bag of cookies and produced Peggy's with a flourish, setting it on a napkin beside her tea cup. "I would never forget your order."

"Well, sometimes they run out." Her eyes flickered past Tony so quickly that if he hadn't already been watching her, he might not have noticed. "Life is full of joys and disappointments, and often you don't know which is which. If they hadn't run out of my shortbread that once, I'd not have discovered these, after all."

Tony edged around the table to take his usual seat on the side of the bed. "You were pretty grouchy about it at the time, though," he returned.

"Was I?" she asked disingenuously, pretending not to remember. "But you took care of me anyhow. You're a good man." Peggy patted Tony's hand, then picked up her teapot to pour. "Pass the sugar, dear, would you?" When Tony handed it to her, he found himself caught in her gaze, warm and all-too-knowing. "You've taken good care of these boys for me," she said softly. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," Tony said. He waited for Peggy to finish stirring her tea, then said, "There's room for you in the tower, if you want it."

She cocked her head, not quite smiling. "I could make a joke, there, about Stark men, but it would be a poor return for your noble intentions, I fear."

Tony grimaced. "I don't know exactly how noble they are, but I know Steve would be happy to have you close at hand. And Bucky, too, I think."

Peggy looked at them, still huddled close together on the floor. It looked like Steve was starting to bring Bucky around and cheer him up a bit. "It might make James and the Captain happy," Peggy said delicately, "but I don't think it would suit me." She turned back to Tony. "Please don't think I begrudge any of you your happiness. But if I were there, I would inevitably be drawn into your lives. Perhaps even end up joining your little band of superheroes."

Tony grinned at her. "You'd make a fantastic superhero," he opined. "Especially if you'd let me build you a new arm. Bucky'll tell you, they get better with every iteration."

"Once you're past the learning curve," Bucky interjected, climbing to his feet and offering the metal hand to help Steve up.

Peggy was smiling faintly, amused, but shaking her head. "No. Maybe someday. But not now." She brushed her knuckles lightly down Tony's cheek, an apologetic caress that reminded him of his mother. "I'm grateful for the offer, Anthony, I truly am. But it would be too easy to lose myself again in your house. Too easy to confuse the future I'd imagined in the past with the past that dragged me unwillingly into a future I'd never dreamed of."

Tony took a breath, and nodded as he let it out. He captured her hand and lightly kissed her knuckles. "I understand. But if you ever change your mind--"

"I'll not hesitate," she promised.

"Peggy," Steve said, "you don't... Are you..." He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable and awkward. "Peg..."

"It's my choice, Captain," Peggy said. Her tone was firm, almost sharp, but her eyes were soft. She let out a soft breath that only Tony was close enough to hear, and her gaze never left Steve as she patted Tony's arm. "You and James give us a moment, dear."

Tony hesitated, but Bucky reached over the table and snared Tony's hand. "Yeah, come on," he said. "Steve got to stuff his face already; now it's my turn."

Tony let Bucky pull him up and steer him from the room, muttering reflexively about super-soldier appetites destined to drive him to bankruptcy. As soon as they were out of earshot, though, he wrapped an arm around Bucky's waist. "You sure this is a good idea?"

Bucky didn't try to pretend not to understand. "Yeah. She could always see right through him, even before they blew him up like a pufferfish. It's one of the reasons I was so jealous of them, back when. She'll straighten him out, never fear."

"Mm." Tony leaned into Bucky's side a little as they waited for the elevator. "Did she straighten you out, too?"

Bucky closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. "I... think she did, actually."

"What'd she say?"

Bucky cast Tony an amused look. "Nosy, aren't ya?"

"This is not news, babe. What did she say?"

Bucky huffed, capitulating. "She asked if I'd known what would happen, and I said no. And then she asked if it was in my power to change it, and--"

"You'd better have said no," Tony said, tightening his hold on Bucky's waist.

"One of these days," Bucky murmured, leaning up to kiss the top of Tony's head, "you're going to believe us when we tell you we're not going anywhere."

"I live with a lot of noble, self-sacrificing idiots," Tony pointed out, "and I'm in love with the two biggest idiots of the bunch. It's an ongoing concern."

Bucky draped the metal arm across Tony's shoulders. "You're just as bad," he said. "Of course I told her no. Thor _said_ he couldn't get the thingamajig back."

Tony felt a prickle of fear ease. "Then what?"

Bucky shrugged. "She said if it wasn't my fault and there wasn't anything I could do about it, then there wasn't anything for me to be sorry about, and that she didn't blame me. But if..." His mouth twisted, and he swallowed hard. "But if I needed to hear it, she forgave me. That's when I started blubbing."

"Can't say I blame you," Tony said softly. "You've been carrying that guilt a long time, Buck-o. Almost two years, now."

Bucky sighed as they made their way into the cafeteria. "I guess."

When Bucky had finished his meal, they made their way back up to Peggy's room in companionable silence. As they turned into Peggy's corridor, Bucky paused, frowning. "Do you hear music?"

Tony did, as a matter of fact, just the faintest hint of something brassy and slow, too muffled to make out more. Bucky's hearing was better than Tony's though, and his lips curved with something that looked like relief. "C'mon," he said, almost whispering, and tugged Tony the rest of the way down the hall to Peggy's room.

Through the window in the door, they saw Steve and Peggy standing in the tiny space in the middle of the room, dancing. They waited, watching, not wanting to interrupt, but then the song came to an end and Peggy deliberately dropped her hand from Steve's shoulder and stepped back.

Tony still hesitated, but Bucky reached past him to open the door. "You romancing my man _again_ , Carter?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

"Just collecting on a long-overdue promise," Peggy said. She laid her hand on the side of Steve's face and stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "But I think it's probably time for you gents to take your leave. I've got my packing to do, after all. Big day tomorrow."

"We'll send a car when you're ready," Steve promised, reaching behind him to catch Bucky's hand. "Take you wherever you're going. Let us do that, at least."

"If you insist," Peggy said. "Don't fret; I won't be going far. You'll see me about." She kissed Bucky's cheek, and then Tony's. "You boys take care of each other," she commanded.

"Always," Tony said, even as Bucky tossed her a saucy mock-salute and Steve dipped his head in a half-bashful smile.

They were crossing the threshold, hand in hand in hand, when she said, "Ca-- Steve?"

Steve stopped and looked back. His face betrayed no strong emotion, but his hand in Tony's trembled. "Yeah, Peg?"

"I'm glad you finally found the right partners."

**Author's Note:**

> One million kisses to ZombieOnAVespa, who infected me with this story idea in the first place and who has been an ardent cheerleader and idea-bouncer, and who also drew the _incredible_ art displayed at the end of Chapter 11.
> 
> Lots of hugs also to [sara_holmes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes) for additional cheerleading!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [everyworldneedslove](http://everyworldneedslove.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Slow Thaw](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891048) by [Politzania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania)
  * [A Slow Thaw - Take Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951498) by [Politzania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania)
  * [Cover for "From Winter’s Cold by 27dragons"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446835) by [PeggyStarkk (LupusUlulans)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupusUlulans/pseuds/PeggyStarkk)




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